


Something About Mary Part II

by Mordhena



Series: Something About [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crowstiel (implied), Gen, M/M, Mary Lives, Mommy Issues, Wincest (implied), relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 31,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: Continues from part I. Sam struggles to accept that Mary is back from the dead, and must face up to some truths about himself as he searches for Lucifer in an attempt to rescue Mary from him. Fallout from past indiscretions threatens Sam and Dean's relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if the red car we saw in the bunker garage in 9x4 Slumber Party is an Aston Martin or not. The name just appealed to me, so in my universe, it's an Aston Martin.
> 
> I owe my thanks to my wonderful and **superfast** beta [under_a_grey_cloud](http://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud%22%22) Go check out her writing. She writes some of the best dark/angst I've read!

**Something About Mary  
** **Part II**  
 **Chapter 1**

 

Sam lies on his bed, eyes closed. His head pounds in concert with his heart. Dean and Castiel came home just over three hours ago.  
They’d fought, one of the worst fights in their lives.

Bitter words between the brothers ended with Dean smashing a glass against a wall, and Sam slamming his bedroom door and locking it. Thanks only to Castiel's intervention, Sam and Dean hadn’t come to blows.

Sam rubs a hand over his eyes, wiping away the dried salt of angry, hurt tears. He hates the way Dean can get under his skin.

Dean blames Sam for Mary's disappearance. Not that he said so in as many words, but the implication was there in every word he _had_ said. Those words hurt. But Sam knows that it only hurts so much because he believes it's true.

Sighing, he hoists himself to his feet. He'd acted cruelly towards Mary. No two ways about it. Dropped a bombshell on her and left her to cope with it alone. Sam lets out a breath. Now she's with Lucifer. She doesn't even perceive the danger she's in.

It doesn't matter that Mary's a hunter. It doesn't matter that she's experienced. She's been gone a long time and both the world and hunting have changed. She's had no experience with angels. The demons she has dealt with are nothing compared to Lucifer.

Sam presses a fist against his forehead as Lucifer’s mocking voice echoes in his mind. _"I think I'll keep her around a while I like her. She's from a good bloodline.”_

"No." Sam growls. "Not this time. You've already taken enough. Me, Cas. I won't let you put your mark on her, too!" He snatches up his jacket from the end of the bed and pulls it on as he heads for the door.

The bunker is quiet. Dean has either passed out drunk on the sofa, or gone to bed in his old room. There's no sign of Castiel, Crowley, or Toni Bevell. Sam wonders if Dean locked her back in the dungeon. That thought annoys him. He shakes his head and moves quietly along the corridor towards the garage.

Sam has almost reached the end of the hallway when a door cracks open.

"What's the plan?" It's Toni's voice.

Sam looks over his shoulder. He tries not to look like a guilty twelve-year-old caught out after curfew. "Uh..."

She cocks an eyebrow. "Succinct." Stepping out of her room, she stands next to him. "I'll come with you." It's not a request, not quite a command.

"I don't think..."

"I don't really care what you think," she says. "I'm coming. I'm a good shot, and I have a few other tricks up my sleeve."

Sighing, Sam glances towards the other end of the corridor. He can't risk alerting Dean by standing here arguing. He meets her eyes, gives a tight nod.

Toni follows him to the garage.

In the months that Sam and Dean have used the bunker as their base, Dean has lovingly tinkered with the cars that the men of letters left behind. All are in perfect running order. They have license plates, thanks to Garth.

Sam chooses the sporty red Aston Martin.

"That’s a little conspicuous, don’t you think?” Toni eyes him over the top of the car.

"Do you see any here that aren’t? Help me push it out.” Sam opens the drivers door.

They roll the car out of the building and halfway to the road before Sam starts the engine and Toni gets in.

Sam has no real idea of what to do next. He only knows that he has to find Lucifer.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The drone of the car's engine makes Sam weary. Toni Bevell can be quite the conversationist, but only when she wants to be. After querying his choice of vehicle, she hasn't said anything and her silence is making Sam antsy.

  
Traveling in the Impala with Dean, they can cover half a state without speaking to one another, but this, well, this is just awkward.

He glances sideways at the woman. She sits perfectly upright but relaxed in her seat, her eyes fixed to the road ahead. Sam frowns. He reaches to turn on the radio. There's no tape deck in this car. He finds a talkback show. The host is taking calls on the subject of genetically modified grains. Sam sighs.

  
"How did you do it, Sam?"

  
Toni's voice is so sudden, that Sam is mildly startled. He looks over at her. Turns his eyes back to the road. He frowns. "Do what?"

  
"Save the sun. That's one of the topics I was sent to discuss with you."

  
Sam scoffs under his breath. "Discuss," he says. "Is that what you call it?"

  
"I had no intentions of harming you," Toni says. She bites off the words between her small, perfect teeth. They crack, like chewed ice. "You forced my hand."

  
"If that helps you sleep at night."

  
"You haven't answered my question."

  
"No. I haven't." Sam's fingers tighten on the wheel.

  
"Let's try another tack then. How is it that you Winchesters can't seem to stay dead?"

  
Sam shrugs. "Wish I knew. Believe me, if I could have found a way..." He frowns. Clamps his lips shut. He can feel her eyes on him, but he focuses on the road. "Our Dad did," he says after a moment. "He's never come back."

  
"You and Dean, though. How many times is it now? Two, three times each?"

  
Sam says nothing.

  
Toni sighs, frustration evident. She falls silent for a while.

  
Sam listens to a farmer ranting about how impossible it is to save soybeans to plant for the next year's crop. How big agriculture companies monopolize the seeds. Sam wishes that his problems could be so uncomplicated.

  
He's completely unprepared when another vehicle slams into the Astin Martin, T-barring them and forcing the car off the road into a ditch. Sam wrestles with the wheel, fights for control. He throws himself sideways across Toni Bevell's body as the car pitches into a roll and careens, roof over wheels, into a corn field.

  
\--

  
"Damn it Cas, is that the best you can give me?"

  
"Dean, you know that it's impossible for any angel to locate you and Sam. Ever since I tattooed your ribs. Besides, my powers are..."

  
"Yeah, I know." Dean slumps into a chair. He pushes a hand across his forehead, scrubs at his scalp. He's tired and hungover and desperate to know where the hell his brother and mother are. "I'm sorry," he says.

  
Castiel nods. "I know.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

  
Dean lets out a breath. He wants a drink, but he needs to keep his wits about him right now.

  
"Why don't you try tracking Sam's phone?"

  
"Because I already tried that. He left it here."

  
"Your mother's..."

  
"She hasn't got one, either. I gave her one of our burners, but she must've ditched it when she took off with Lucifer. Fuck!" Dean pushes to his feet, paces the floor. "I should have tagged those damn cars like I was planning to do."

  
"Sam must have gone after Mary," Castiel says.

  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

  
"No, I mean, we should focus on finding Lucifer," Castiel says. "If we find him, we find your mother, and, eventually, Sam, too." He sighs. "I'm sorry, it's not much of a plan."

  
Dean relents a little. He puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "It's a starting point."

  
"Not a very good one."

  
"It’s the only one we've got." Dean picks up his phone and the car keys and heads for the garage, Castiel on his heels.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's head is pounding. He groans, tries to sit up. He smells gasoline, and the air inside the car is dusty. Pebbles of shattered safety glass litter the seats. Sam puts his fingers to his temple. They come away bloody. He looks at Toni Bevell. She's conscious and looks pissed off. 

"Are you okay?" Sam asks. 

"I _would_ be, if you'd get your knee out of my back." 

"Uh... sorry." Sam shifts a little, pushes away from her. He tries the driver's door and pushes it open. Sam tumbles out into the flattened corn stalks. He reaches into the car and offers Toni his hand. She grudgingly lets him help her out of the wreck. 

They stand in the field, dusting themselves off. Sam's relieved to see that she doesn't seem to be hurt. He's okay, apart from the cut on his forehead and a headache; maybe a slight concussion, and some pain in his wrist from wrestling with the steering wheel. 

He glances at Toni, who has gone still and pale, staring over Sam's shoulder. Sam turns to follow her gaze. 

Two people approach from the direction of the road. The occupants of the other car, Sam assumes. He waves, calls out to them. "Hey! We're okay. Is anyone else hurt?" 

"Sam." Toni's voice, low and tense, draws his attention. She looks...frightened. Sam frowns. "Run!" Toni says. "Leave them to me." 

"What?" Sam looks from her to the approaching men and back to Toni. "No. I..." 

"Don't argue, Sam! I know these people. Go!" 

"They're men of letters," Sam states. He plants his feet. "I'm not running from them." He won't. He's not going to leave her with them, not with that naked fear in her eyes.

  
"It's Mister Ketch," she says. "The other man is called Mick." She meets his eyes. "Trust me. You do not want to fall into their hands." She steps forward, gives him a shove. "Now, for pity's sake, get out of here! I'll be in touch."

  
There's a muted crack, and an instant later a bullet whines past Sam's ear. Instinct takes over. Sam reaches for the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. He hunkers low, grabs Toni Bevell's wrist and takes to his heels.

  
"No! No, you idiot!" She fights him. "Let _go_!" She jerks, gives a shriek and collapses to the ground.

  
Sam glances back just long enough to see that Toni won't be going with him. He mutters a curse, dives into the corn field. Keeping low, doing his best not to betray his location, he moves away from the scene of the car wreck as fast as he can.

 

~*~

 

"Mary, Maaaary."

  
The soft and coaxing voice calls her name and Mary Winchester rolls towards it, eyes closed. Her lips curve into a sleepy smile.

  
"Hmmm. John?"

  
"Guess again." There's a cooler edge to the voice now. Mary opens her eyes and blinks, a little confused as she rouses from dreams. "Vince," she says. She tries to smother the faint disappointment in her tone. She's still unused to waking up to this new reality. Realization dawns and she sits up in bed, gathering the sheet close to her body. "What...how?"

  
"Don't you remember?" Vince smiles at her. "I didn't think you were quite that drunk."

  
"I...did you...we..."

  
"Oh, yes, we did." His smile is predatory.

  
Mary swallows hard and looks around. Sees her clothes scattered on the floor. She closes her eyes. This can't be right. "I don't remem..." but then, she does.

  
She wasn't drunk last night. She'd only had two beers during the show. She recalls the drive back to the hotel after the concert. How close Vince had sat in the car. How he'd invited her back to his room, for a nightcap. Mary frowns. She hadn't intended to accept, but was drawn by something strangely compelling about him. A magnetism impossible to resist.

  
Drawing a shaky breath, Mary opens her eyes. "I...should go."

  
"Stay." Vince's fingers—such cold fingers—light upon her arm and Mary stills, looks over her shoulder at him. "You know you want to..." He smiles.

  
Mary opens her mouth to deny it, but no words come. She is captured by his eyes. His hand closes around her wrist, drawing her back down in the bed.   



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam-fucking-Winchester, yo!  
> Yeah, he makes an appearance for a moment in this chapter. He'll be back, too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks as ever to my amazing Beta, under_a_gray_cloud who made this chapter all it could be!

Dean’s phone rings. He snatches it from the dash and brings it to his ear, thumbing the answer button in the same motion. “Dean Winchester.”  

 _“Dean, hey.”_ Sam sounds a little out of breath.   

Dean checks the phone for a number. “Unknown.” Breathing deeply, he returns the phone to his ear. 

“Where _are you?_ Damn it, Sam, what the hell are you playing at, taking off like that?” 

_“Okay, just chill, all right? Quit snarling for a minute and listen. I’m OK. I…I had an accident, but I’m not hurt. Listen, I’ve got some heat on my tail. I’m gonna boost a car and come back to the bunker.”_

“Heat? What kind of heat … You wrecked the _Astin_? Sam, I…”

 _“I’ll explain everything when I get home…”_  

“No. Nix that. Cas and I are on the road. Where’re you at?”

 _"Few miles the other side of Hastings, Iowa."_  

"Right. Go to ground. We'll come to you." Dean thumbs the end call button and tosses the phone on the passenger seat.  

  

+++ 

 

The sun has almost set when Sam drags his feet into his room at the Shady Rest Motel. He has followed their protocol. First motel he could find in the yellow pages near his location checked in as Jim Rockford. As an extra precaution, he texts Dean his coordinates before he drops face down onto the bed.  

Sighing, he closes his eyes. As far as he can tell, no one has tailed him. His head pounds, a leftover from the car wreck. Sam curses not having had time to grab his duffel from the car. He has no pain killers. No weapons other than the Glock tucked in the waist of his jeans. He hopes Dean will come soon. He'd willingly kill for a Tylenol.  

Weariness outweighs his pain and Sam soon drifts to sleep. 

 

+++ 

 

_"Here you are in trouble again, Sammy." John Winchester speaks from the shadows in the corner of the room. "You were never the follower Dean is. Never could take an order."_

_Sam scoffs. "You were never even half the leader Dean is," he says._

_"S'that so? Just who do you think taught your brother everything he knows?"_

_"Probably Bobby," Sam replies. "I mean, it's not like you were ever_ there _to teach him anything, is it?"_  

_John shakes his head. Takes a long drink from a bottle of bourbon and then turns cold eyes on Sam. "You were always the weaker one."_

_"Oh, yeah, because it's so strong to spend your every down minute passed out drunk in front of the television."_

_John laughs, low and quiet. "Bobby Singer...Maybe he taught Dean how to keep that old car running. He was never any use for much else." He takes another swig and looks at the half empty bottle. "Have you noticed, recently, how often your brother falls into a bottle? " John locks eyes with Sam. "No, Sam. I lost count of how many times you almost got Dean taken out by some freak. You were always a distraction. We were better off without you. I don't know why Dean brought you back into the game."_

_Sam smirks. "I know who you are," he says. "You're just trying to get under my skin so I'll get off your trail. But you know what? I'm coming for you, Lucifer. I'm coming, and this time I'll take you down for good."_

_"We'll see, Sammy boy." The light bearer smiles through John Winchester's eyes. "Say hi to Dean for me." Another, low, cold laugh. "In the meantime, I'm enjoying getting to_ know _your sweet Mommy."_

Sam wakes with a start, his heart pounding. There's an echo in the air that he can't quite place. The room is cold and dark. Sam sucks in a breath.  

"Sammy!" His brother's voice, followed by a rattle of the doorknob.  

Sam gets up and stumbles to the door, pulling it open. 

Dean and Castiel stand framed in the doorway, bathed in garish yellow from the sodium lamps in the parking lot. Sam sees the tension drain out of Dean's shoulders an instant before his brother pushes by him into the room. 

That small flash of relief is all he gets before Dean rounds on him. "You goddamned idiot!" Dean snaps. 

Despite the anger, Sam's glad to see him. He grins. "Hi," he says. "Got any Tylenol?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like it, please comment. Comments are my rocket fuel!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole a line from Canon in this chapter. It's not mine and I mean no copyright infringement by it. It was just such a good line, I had to keep it! All credit to the SPN writers for that one.

Dean sits on the bed, a cold beer in hand and an iPad balanced on his lap. He glances up when Sam comes out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips. Water beads on tanned skin across Sam's chest, and accentuates the play of muscles as he uses a second towel to scrub at his hair. Dean watches for a moment and then shakes his head. 

"You're gonna be sorry when you have to comb out the tangles, Samantha. I'm not helping you with that!"

  
"Shut up." Sam throws the damp towel at him and digs through Dean's duffel, coming out with a pair of his brother's boxers. "I'm borrowing these."

  
Dean rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You should take better care of your gear. We'll have to go shopping for you. Again."

  
"Where's Cas?"

  
A shrug. "Gone off somewhere. He got that angel radio look and then said he'd be back soon."

  
"Maybe he got a lead."

  
"From who? Not like the angels actually talk to him these days."

  
"Crowley, maybe?"

  
Dean scoffs. "What, you think they're living out some kind of 80's buddy comedy?"

  
"Uhm...you _do know_ they're an item, right?"

  
"Did you have to remind me of that?" Dean shakes his head. "Anyway, that's not what I meant. Sharing a bed, that's one thing, but working a case together?"

  
"We share a bed, and we work cases together all the time." Sam chuckles.

  
"That's different."

  
"Right." Sam drops the towel from around his waist and walks to where Dean's sitting. He straddles his brother's lap and pushes him backwards onto the bed, crawling up along Dean's body to pin him on the mattress.

  
"What're you mmpf!" He's cut off by Sam's mouth coming down on his. He closes his eyes, parts his lips for Sam's tongue. Sam tastes of mouthwash and his skin smells of soap. Dean catches the scent of shampoo as damp tendrils of hair fall against his cheeks. He groans low in his throat and rolls so that he's on top of Sam.

 

The iPad slips, forgotten to the floor, its news headline unnoticed:  **VINCE VINCENTE ANNOUNCES SHOCK COMEBACK: NEW RECORD DEAL**

 

+++

 

Mary can't get used to the woman she sees reflected in the mirror. She stares and stares, but the face looking back at her is unfamiliar. The long hair, the blue eyes. They're her features, but they don't fit.

  
None of this fits.

  
She runs her fingers through her hair. Pushes it this way and that. She frowns. Nothing feels right. She doesn't belong here. Turning away from the mirror, she exits the bathroom and crosses the luxurious bedroom. Vince has spared no expense on their accommodations. She casts a glance at the breakfast tray and looks away. She has no appetite. Moving to the bedside she opens a drawer, rummaging for a moment. Her search reveals nothing more interesting than a few restaurant pamphlets and a Gideon's Bible.

  
A sigh. She moves to a closet, looks through one of the suitcases and finds what she wants.

  
Mary returns to the bathroom stares at the mirror, starts to cut her hair.

  
"What are you doing?" Vince has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

  
Startled, Mary turns to look over her shoulder. She smiles. "I felt like a change," she says. She turns to the mirror. Hair barely brushes her shoulders. Close to the way she wore it when she was younger. When she first met John. Before the sheer crap of being a hunter intervened and twisted everything. She sighs. Her face is still too old, too lined, too wrong.

  
"I never had you pegged as the vain type." Vince comes to stand behind her, rests cool fingers on her shoulders. Mary shivers. She meets his gaze in their reflection.

  
"I'm not," she says. "At least I wasn't, before." How can she explain it to him? He couldn't possibly believe her story. _Yesterday, I was in heaven with my husband and my two little boys and it was perfect, and now I'm here and my skin feels too tight._

  
Vince leans in. His lips brush the back of her neck where her shorter hairstyle exposes the skin. She closes her eyes, parts her lips to say something, but he shushes her in that uncanny way he has of knowing when she's about to speak.

  
"Come with me," Vince says. "There's someone I want you to meet."

  
Mary follows him into the living area of their hotel suite. There's a woman sitting on the sofa. As they enter, she stands. She's petite and delicate. Long, glossy red hair tumbles about her shoulders and down her back. She wears a figure hugging evening dress. Her skin is peaches and cream, her catlike green eyes sweep over Mary appraisingly.

  
"Who're you?" Even her lilting Scottish brogue is perfect. The woman meets Mary's gaze and then looks to Vincent.

  
"Rowena," Vince says. "This is Mary. Mary, Rowena."

  
Mary forces a smile. She wonders if her cheeks will shatter from the stiffness of her expression. She feels diminished in the presence of such flawless beauty. "Mary Winchester," she says, holding out a hand.

  
"Mary...Winchester?" Rowena ignores her hand. Her gaze is on Vince. " _Winchester_?!"

  
"Quiet." Vince's voice is a low growl of command. Something cold flashes behind his eyes. He accompanies the word with a quick gesture.

  
The red haired woman falls silent. She glares at Vince and then turns a calculating gaze on Mary. "Well, if nothing else, this ought to be interesting." She turns with a dancer's grace and makes her way to the breakfast trolley. "Do we have any tea?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying the story please comment. Comments are li rocket fuel to the muse!


	6. Chapter 6

Sated, boneless, Sam lies on his back in the middle of the queen bed. Sounds of running water from the bathroom tell him Dean is showering. Sam sits up and pushes his fingers through his hair. He reaches for a pair of shorts and slips them on an instant before a rush of wind in the room announces Castiel's arrival.

Crowley arrives with Castiel. He sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose in distaste. "It reeks of sex in here!" He opens a window. 

Watching him, Sam scowls. He's about to speak, but Castiel cuts him off.

"We've found Lucifer," the angel says.

Sam forgets his pique at Crowley and meets Castiel's eyes. "Where?"

"L.A."

Sam gets to his feet and knocks on the bathroom door. "Dean, c'mon! We've got a solid lead."

Within twenty minutes Dean is dressed, they're packed and ready for the road. Dean leads the way to the Impala when a metallic click brings them all up short.

A dark haired man in a tailored suit stands beside the car. He's armed with what looks to Sam like a grenade launcher. Instinctively, Sam drops to the ground. Dean curses, goes for his gun then thinks better of it, ducking for cover. Crowley vanishes, leaving a disembodied "Bollocks!" behind. Only Castiel remains on his feet, unperturbed, adopting a defensive stance in front of the Winchesters.

"Gentlemen," the stranger says.

The man seems familiar. "I've seen you before," Sam says.

"We've...almost met."

"I won't let you harm..."

"Angel," the man interrupts. His tone is almost chiding. "If I wanted to harm your friends, I'd have done so well before this juncture." He lowers the weapon. "I'm here to talk."

"And who the hell are you?" Dean is slowly gaining his feet, hands out to the sides in plain sight.

"Arthur Ketch. British Men of Letters."

_It's Mr Ketch! The other one is called Mick. Trust me, you don't want to fall into their hands! Toni Bevell's words flash across Sam's mind and he knows where he's seen this guy before._ He gets up, flanks Dean. "I remember you, now. Toni told me not to trust you."

"Of course she did." Ketch smiles sadly. "Lady Antonia is a rogue agent with her own agenda. The fact is, Sam, I'm probably the one person you _should_ trust. I can help you with your little...archangel problem."

"It's hardly little," Castiel growls.

"Quite. But you know I'm telling the truth, Angel."

"My name is Castiel."

"Why, thank you." Ketch sketches bow. "I promise not to abuse it. So am I lying or not?

"I've found that humans tell the truth only in so far as it suits them."

Sam glances at Castiel, raises an eyebrow. The angel’s tone holds more than an edge of bitterness.

"Oh, _Touché_!" Ketch chuckles. "I do love an Angel. I miss working with them."

Castiel exhales in annoyance, but he looks to Dean. "You can trust him," he says.

Ketch grins. "Lovely! Shall we?" He gestures towards the room they've just exited.

Dean and Castiel turn to go back inside. Sam keeps his eyes fixed on Ketch, who stows the grenade launcher in a duffel before following them. Sam is the last to step back inside the room. He stands with his back to the closed door, braced and ready to fight if necessary.

 

+++

 

"So, how long have you been tagging along with the great and powerful Vince?" Rowena perches on the edge of the sofa, an almost translucent China cup balanced on a saucer as she eyes Mary. She picks up a tiny shortbread cookie from the saucer and delicately nibbles a crumb sized bite.

Mary frowns. "I met him in Lebanon. A week ago, I think."

"Figures." Rowena smirks. "What a lovely coincidence, that he had reason to be _there_ of all places."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all." Rowena glances towards the door and leans forward in her seat. She locks eyes with Mary. "Word of advice, Dearie. Get the hell out, before he comes back!"

"What? I..." Mary frowns. "It's none of..."

"Tell me something, Mary. Do you really _want_ to be here? Do you really _want_ him?"

Mary is about to reply, but hesitates. She doesn't have a definitive answer. Vince is undeniably charming. From the moment she met him he has been the soul of wit and charisma. Yet, there are times when she asks herself why she's here. She stares into Rowena's eyes, confused.

After a moment, the woman nods. "Right. So, take your chance. Get out while the getting's good. Trust me, you've no idea who you're dealing with! He's..."

"Rowena." Vince is suddenly standing in front of the red-haired woman. Mary sees a shudder run through the slender form as Rowena raises her eyes, alight with terror, to Vince's face.

"What have I told you about letting your tongue run away with you, my sweet witch?"

"My lord," Rowena's voice trembles and she moves unwillingly, sinking to her knees in front of him. "Please...mercy, I beg you."

Vince smiles. A cold expression that sends a chill along Mary's spine.

"I've warned you once too often. I've been more than tolerant. This time, I’m afraid you've gone too far." Vince raises a hand, turns his wrist and Rowena is jerked to her feet. She struggles for breath, hands clawing at her throat. Her eyes darken with fear and pain.

Mary stumbles backwards into the room service trolley. She stares, transfixed, as Rowena is lifted from the floor, her feet desperately kicking, seeking purchase.

Mary runs a hand over the contents of the trolley behind her. She finds a cheese knife. She raises it, lunges forward and slashes at Vince's shoulder. "Stop this! Let her go!" An instant later she reels backwards as Vince turns on her. His eyes glow red and he flings his free hand in Mary's direction. She's impacted with a rush of air that sends her hurtling against a wall. The knife drops from her grasp and a crushing weight bears down against her chest, making movement impossible.

"Demon!" Mary spits.

Vince chuckles. "Guess again." He tips his head to one side and lowers his hand, letting Rowena's completely limp form drop to the floor as he crosses the room. His cold fingers caress Mary's face. "I'm so, so much more." He leans in and kisses her.

"Get your hands off me!" Mary twists her face away. "Let me go!"

"Now, now. Is that any way to talk to me? I could snap your beautiful neck like a twig. I could pin you to the ceiling and watch you burn. Again. I could..." His lips are a breath away from her ear as he whispers. "I could bring your sons here and gut them in front of you."

Sobbing, Mary shakes her head. "Please... What do you want?"

"I want _you_ , Mary."

Something moves in the periphery of Mary's vision. She turns her head slightly. Rowena is slowly pulling herself up from the floor. Trembling, Mary looks into Vince's eyes. "Who...what are you?"

A cold smile. "I'm _everything_! I'm the deceiver, the father of lies, the light bearer; the firstborn of all creation." He tilts his head. "Your religious leaders got that one all wrong, you know? They think Jesus was the firstborn. He wasn't! He usurped my place." He locks eyes with Mary. "Lucifer, Satan, the Serpent. You can call me Luci."

Behind him, Rowena uses the dropped cheese knife to cut into the flesh of her palm. Mary watches her for a second, then turns her gaze to Lucifer.

"I'll never do anything you want," she says. "You might as well kill me."

"Oh, but that would spoil the fun!" He pouts. "I'll keep you alive, but you'll wish you were dead. Eventually, you _will_ say yes."

"You’ve forgotten something, _my lord_!" Rowena lifts her bloodied palm and places it on Lucifer's back, smearing blood onto his jacket. She quickly traces a design in the mess and steps back as Lucifer whirls to face her. "I can't kill you," Rowena says. "But I can send you away! Try finding a new vessel at the bottom of the bloody ocean!" She raises her hands, curled into claws and snarls, “ _Abite_! _"_

  
" _You fucking bi..._ " Lucifer lunges for her, but in that instant, he is gone.

  
Mary slumps to the floor, panting, trembling. Rowena runs to her.

  
"Get up! Run, for pity's sake! I don't know how long that's going to hold him!"

  
Together, the two women flee from the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please comment! It means so much to receive feedback!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to move along now. Best strap yourselves in. It could get rough from here on!

Tension is so thick in the room, Sam finds it difficult to breathe. Arthur Ketch sets his duffel bag on the floor, seats himself next to the small, battered table. Dean stands at the foot of the queen bed. Even Castiel is tense.

  
"So, you always approach people to 'talk' with a grenade launcher on your shoulder?" Dean levels a cold stare at Ketch.

  
"Not usually." Ketch forces a smile. "In this situation, however, it seemed prudent. You do after all have alliances with demons, angels, and at least one powerful witch."

  
Sam narrows his eyes. "You ran my car off the road. You and your pal Mick came after Toni and me, guns blazing. Was that an invitation to talk?"

  
Ketch sighs. "The guns were not aimed at you. To be redundant, if we'd wanted to shoot you Sam, you wouldn't be standing here now."

  
Sam rolls his eyes. "Why now? Presumably, the British Men of Letters have been around a long time. Why wait this long to make contact?"

  
"Oh, we've tried before. You and your brother aren't the easiest two people to track down. It wasn't until you started to use the Lebanon Bunker as a base of operations that we could get a fix on you."

  
Sam smirks. "I thought you were supposed to be good at that kind of thing."

  
"We are." An edge of ice creeps into Ketch's tone. "Lady Antonia wanted to contact you herself after you opened the gates of hell the first time. We discussed this at great length. However, certain of our older members found the idea somewhat _de trop."_

  
"And that brings us back to _why now_?" Dean cuts in on the conversation.

  
"Because we're looking at branching out. We wish to take our operations international once more. Unfortunately, you two _are_ the US Men of Letters. Mick proposes we work together. I'm here to strongly encourage a yes."

  
“We don’t need any help, thanks.” Sam opens the door.

  
“Hear me out.” Ketch reaches into his coat and both Winchesters go for their guns. Slowly, Ketch produces an object that resembles a golden egg. “With the demise of the Men of Letters in this country, research and development has stalled. As a result, your hunters have been working at a distinct disadvantage.” He holds up the object. “We’re willing to redress that deficit.”

 

 

+++

 

"You're a witch!" Mary levels a look at Rowena when they finally stop running long enough for her to catch her breath.

  
"Oh? What gave it away?" The woman rolls her eyes. She produces a small velvet bag from somewhere within the folds of her long skirt. "Best hold on, dear." She offers Mary her hand. "This might just pinch a little. I've not tried it with a mortal before." Grasping Mary's hand, she throws the bag to the ground. " _Educ_!"

  
Mary instinctively shields her eyes from a blinding flash of light. When she lowers her arm, she blinks in surprise. The street that they were standing on has gone. She finds herself in what appears to be a chamber in a medieval castle. Complete with stone walls, rich tapestries and a large wooden chair she can only think of as a throne.

  
"Of course he's not in!" Rowena clicks her tongue in irritation. She heads toward a table and begins tossing items into a large brass bowl. She slices her forearm without a second thought, adds her blood to the mix. She stirs the ingredients with her fingers and then throws a lighted match into the bowl.

  
Crowley appears behind her. "Mother. I _gave_ you a cell phone, Why can't you use it?"

  
"I told you, I don't understand that newfangled dealie," Rowena replies.

  
"You summoned me right when things were getting..." Crowley's eyes light on Mary and his expression turns instantly calculating. "... _Interesting_!"

  
Rowena smirks, her own expression triumphant. "I thought you'd want to know about this development," she says.

"It's Mary-"

  
"Winchester," Crowley cuts in. "We meet again." He smiles at Mary.

_  
"You've met her?"_

  
"You really do need to read the newsletter, Mother. I've known about her resurrection for weeks." He turns to Rowena. "So, where's Lucifer?"

  
"I sent him away," Rowena says. "Far away, to somewhere he'll hopefully not return from for a long, long time."

  
"You _what_?!"

  
"Oh, hush your greetin'!* It was that, or he was about to try _her_ on for size."

  
"I'm right here," Mary says. "Would one of you mind explaining exactly what the hell is going on?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *greeting/greetin' is Scottish vernacular for crying/complaining. I think it's sad that Rowena doesn't get to use vernacular in the show! It's so very Scottish and quite colorful. I give her the chance in my stories.
> 
> Please comment if you liked this chapter. It really does make me want to write faster!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse is in a giving mood. She gave me two bonus chapters this week. This is the first of those.  
> The second one, i hope, will be up in time for the 25th.  
> Happy Holidays!
> 
> Also, there are images in this post which are essential viewing for the chapter to make any sense. If you can't see them, you may need to load the chapter on your computer rather than a mobile device.

Sam sits at the table, a half eaten salad in front of him. He toys with the now wilted spinach leaves, stirring them around the bowl with his fork, but his attention is elsewhere. His eyes stare blankly through the motel window. Dean is sitting in the middle of the bed. He’s spread out their bag of weapons in front of him and he's cleaning one of the guns. He glances at Sam from time to time, but says nothing. 

Frowning, Sam pushes a hand through his hair and sets down his fork. He and Dean have been alone for the last couple of hours. Castiel is off looking leads on Lucifer. The egg-like device Ketch showed them is apparently capable of forcing Lucifer out of his vessel and right back into the cage in hell. Castiel had gingerly examined the device, declared that it was indeed imbued with an ancient power which affects angels and demons alike. 

Sam flicks a glance in Dean's direction. Turns back to the window with a sigh. Things are not good between them. Not since the whole Gabriel fiasco, quickly followed by Toni Bevell's revelations regarding Dean and Castiel. Much as he has tried, Sam can't push down his anger, the sense of betrayal. Feelings Dean says are unfair.  Maybe Dean's right. They've never really had an exclusive arrangement. How could they? Their relationship is ten kinds of fucked up to begin with. Brothers, lovers. Sam huffs a breath. 

He can count on less than one hand, the number of times they've had sex since Gabriel. Each one of those times, Sam had initiated. Dean had gone through the motions. Not that it was _bad_ sex. But it wasn't exactly great, either. Another long drawn sigh. 

"Will you quit that?" Dean's voice cuts across Sam's thoughts. 

"What?" 

"You sound like a heavy breather on the phone." Dean reassembles the gun he's been cleaning, stows it back in the bag. "And you're jiggling your damn leg. It's distracting." 

"Pardon me for living." Sam scowls. He gets up and dumps the remains of his salad into the trash. He turns to Dean, ready for a fight. His phone pings a message and Sam pulls it from his pocket.  

  
 

It's Gabriel. Sam could never understand why the archangel had entered his number in Sam's phone under Loki. It’s not as if that would fool Dean. He knows that Gabriel is the god  of mischief.  

  


Sam rolls his eyes, but figures that texting back and forth with Gabriel beats fighting with or being ignored by his brother. He taps out another message.  

  


"Dude, seriously! Who're you texting?" Dean's tone is thick with irritation. 

Sam startles. "Oh, it's one of those random spam things. Offering me the world in exchange for my bank details." He slips the phone into his pocket. 

Dean rolls his eyes. "Don't feed the trolls." He packs away the gun oil and other equipment. "I've told you not to sign up for those competitions, Sammy. They're just click bait to get your phone number. 

"I was bored." 

"So, jerk off, watch porn. There are a thousand things you could do besides trying to win some fake contest." Dean gets up and drops the bag of weapons by the door.  

Watching him, Sam bites his lip. Maybe with Cas away, it would be a good time to try and talk things out. "Dean..." 

"No. Don't come at me with that tone, Sam. We're not going there. I said what I had to say at the bunker." 

"We need to..." 

"We so don't." 

"Right, so you're content to just sweep it all under the rug, pretend nothing ever happened?" 

Dean gets himself a beer from the minibar and flops back onto the bed. He picks up the TV remote. "End of discussion." 

Shaking his head, Sam reaches for the iPad and opens the web browser.  

They're silent for a while. Dean channel surfs. Sam scrolls through police reports, news pages and network news Facebook feeds. He finds nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of drownings in Florida. A motorist in Maine who stroked out at the wheel, taking out an entire drug store with him. 

"Anything on the radar?" 

Sam looks at Dean and shrugs. "Not really."  

"Right, a whole lot of bupkis!" Dean huffs out a breath. "What's the point of having this golden egg thing if Lucifer's off the damn radar?" 

"We'll find him, Dean. We're under his skin and he's gonna be looking for revenge. He won't be able to stay away." 

Castiel appears suddenly behind Sam's chair. "He's growing desperate, and reckless. His vessel cannot sustain him much longer. He will come looking for you, Sam." 

Suddenly irritated, Sam gets to his feet. "Well, it's not like he hasn't worn my ass before, is it." He puts some space between himself and the angel, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door. 

 

Dean shakes his head. "You gotta quit just popping in like that." He glances towards the bathroom door. "And watch your step around Sam. You're not exactly his favorite flavor right now." 

Castiel frowns. "My apologies. I didn't mean to upset anyone." 

"Any news?"  

"Nothing." 

Dean goes to the fridge and grabs a beer. He offers one to Castiel, who declines with a shake of his head. "Any word from your boyfriend?" 

"Crowley is not my boyfriend. He was called away. I don't have anything further to offer." 

"You're such an _asset_ ," Dean snarks. He downs half his beer and avoids looking at Castiel. He doesn't want to see the hurt he knows his words have inflicted. 

 

Sam splashes cold water on his face to help him think. He dries his face and hands, and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He taps out a message to Gabriel. 

 

[  
](https://postimg.org/image/7q3nin4vb/)[](https://postimg.org/image/7q3nin4vb/)  
  
  


Sam considers for a moment and then lets out a breath. Why the hell shouldn't he? It's not like he's achieving anything useful in the motel room. He sends a reply, naming a nearby bar. 

[image hosting](https://postimage.org/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment. My muse works faster in direct correlation to the number of comments received! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to have this chapter online in time for Christmas Day, but I'm not sure I hit the mark. It's the day after Christmas for me in Australia. Anyway, here's the next installment.
> 
> Merry Everything   
> and a Happy Always!

Sam is still smarting at his brother's offhand dismissal of him when he arrives at the bar to meet Gabriel. Far from questioning Sam's sudden departure, Dean had tossed him the keys to the Impala. "Get beer while you're out," was all he'd said. 

The bar is quiet, only a few patrons enjoying drinks, a couple of guys playing pool. There's music coming from the jukebox in a corner, and a waitress bearing a tray moves between tables.  

Gabriel sits a little removed from the other customers. He's already ordered drinks and Sam slides into the seat opposite him. "Hey!" 

"Sam." The archangel pushes a beer across the table to him. 

"Thanks," Sam lifts the glass and chugs down a good third of the contents without pausing for breath.  

Gabriel watches him in silence. The archangel toys with his own glass but doesn't drink. "Feel better?" 

Sam nods. He looks into Gabriel's eyes for a moment, then his gaze flickers away. He studies the other people in the room, a force of habit developed over years of hunting, following leads, observing marks, looking for the tells that indicate demon or ghost possession; the inherent 'otherness' of vampires, werewolves and other creatures. After a minute or two, he returns his attention to Gabriel. 

"So, what's the news on your dad's big comeback?" 

Gabriel shrugs. "Nada. No-one talks to me. Black sheep, remember? There's something about fleeing from heaven to become a demi-god on earth that kinda shut me out of the family circle." 

"Yeah, but you still hear things." 

"That implies that there's something to hear. The fam's been oddly silent on that score. Big brother though? Now _that's_  creating a buzz!" 

Sam is instantly focused. "What do they say? Do you know where he is?" 

"Right this minute? No. I know where he _was_. He dropped off the radar, though. Right after the really big scoop." Gabriel pauses, looking puzzled. "Actually, I'm surprised that Castiel hasn't got wind of that, and pulled you two into the loop." 

"He's probably been too busy scr... never mind." Sam shakes his head. "Heard what?" 

"That Luci's expecting. Well, not _him_  exactly, but his latest squeeze. Some lucky lady's gonna be the mother of Lucifer the second." 

Sam chokes on a mouthful of beer. He grabs a napkin and wipes his mouth, mops up spilled beer from the table. "He's what?" 

"Mind you, I always thought Luci's tastes ran the other way. Color _me_  surprised. I wonder who he convinced to cozy up under the duvet to pull off that little trick?" 

Sam has a pretty good idea. He shivers, bites the inside of his cheek. _It's not possible, is it? She'd be too_ _old... It_ _can't be. It just can't._  

"You okay there, kiddo? You've gone a little green." 

"It's nothing. Just the idea of Lucifer sleeping with anyone." 

"Angels are people too! Kinda. We have desires, we have needs... Why shouldn't Lucifer sleep with someone? Why shouldn't I? Even _Castiel_  has discovered he has a …" The archangel trails off. "Oh...right. You and Luci..." 

"Not _willingly_!" Sam growls. "It's not like I _had_ a lot of choice stuck in that damn cage! 

"Oh! For _Dad's sake!"_ Gabriel looks hurt. "That's so _like_ him! He always did muscle in on..." He breaks off as realization of what Sam is saying settles in. "Oh. Oh...right. For a minute there I thought-" 

"What, you thought that I enjoyed—that I _wanted_... Do you have _any idea_  what your brother likes to do as his personal form of sport?!" 

"I could make an extremely well educated guess. Look, Sam. I'm sorry. Whatever I said, or didn't say... I'm just letting you know, okay? Don't shoot the messenger. You need to find this offspring and destroy it." 

"Just how are we supposed to do that?" 

"Well, last I knew, Lucifer was in LA. Find out who was with him. Hell, kill every woman in the city. It's how we used to roll back in the day." 

Sam swallows hard. He's already got more than an inkling of who this hell-spawn's mother is. He lets out a long drawn breath. "I need to call Dean," he says. 

Gabriel smiles sadly. "Yeah, you do that, Sam." 

"This is a war we’re fighting, Gabriel! You might be able to hide away and do nothing, but _we_  don't have that luxury." 

Gabriel scowls. He stands up and leans both hands on the table, getting in Sam's face. "Hide away! Really? I just gave you some damned solid information, Sam! You... You know what? _Screw you!"_  The archangel departs in a clap of thunder that dims the lights for a full minute. 

Sam shakes his head. He throws a few bills on the table and leaves the bar. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment. It makes my muse work all that much faster. She is such a feedback whore!


	10. Chapter 10

"Did you get more beer?" Dean asks as soon as Sam enters the library.  

   
Sam shakes his head. "I forgot," he says. "I've got some information, though." He sets the keys to the Impala on the library table and takes a seat. "Lucifer's going to be a father."  

   
"What?" Dean shakes his head. "Can you run that by me again? I thought I heard you say..."  

   
"It's true," Castiel appears out of nowhere. "A Nephilim has come into existence.'  

   
Glancing at the angel, Sam nods and turns to Dean. "He's gotten a...woman pregnant."  

   
"A woman..." Dean frowns. He looks up locking eyes with Sam.  

   
Sam nods. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to. He can read the same conclusion in Dean's eyes as he has reached himself.  

   
"Crap," Dean murmurs.  

   
"Dean, you must find the woman," Castiel says. "This abomination has to be destroyed."  

   
Dean bites his lip. He looks at Castiel. "You got any idea how the hell we're gonna do that? Presumably, the woman is  _with_  Lucifer, and we don't know where he is!"  

   
"We  _will_  find him, Dean," The angel replies.  

  

\+ + +  

   
 

Mary leans weakly against the vanity in the bathroom—a bathroom in  _hell_ no less—she passes a hand, damp with cold water across her face. The nausea has eased, but she feels shaky, a little unsteady on her feet. She runs her dampened fingers through her hair, fluffing the ends, and takes a deep breath before stepping out of the room.  

   
Crowley  waits for her in the throne-room.  

   
"Feel better, ducks?" Crowley offers her a glass of some clear liquid. "Don't worry, it's  _aqua pura_. The non holy kind, so please spare us both the indignity of throwing it in my face."   
 

Mary takes the glass, and cautiously sips the water. Finding it to her taste, she downs a few mouthfuls. "I'm... yes, I feel better. I don't know what brought that on.  Maybe shock." It had  _been_  a shock, hearing the whole story of her sons' lives since her death. Sam's psychic abilities, the opening of the hell-mouth, Dean's subsequent soul contract. Death, the apocalypse, resurrections, the loss of Sam's soul, Dean taking the Mark of Cain, right up until the present, and Mary's own return from the grave.     
 

"Maybe," Crowley rasps.   

   
There's something in the demon's tone that makes Mary study him for a long moment. He offers no further comment. Mary carries her glass of water to a low wooden bench at the side of the room.    
  


"Where's your..." It feels altogether too ludicrous to refer to the witch as Crowley's mother.  "Where's Rowena?"  

   
"Don't know, don't care." Crowley pours whiskey from a decanter, sips the amber liquid. His dark eyes linger on Mary. His expression speculative and somehow knowing.   

   
Mary holds his gaze for a moment, before looking around the large chamber. Crowley's regard makes her uncomfortable. She clears her throat. "I—didn't get a chance to thank her. For-"    
 

"Oh, never fear, she'll remember you owe her," Crowley says. "You're bound to be given more than ample opportunity to  _thank_  her at some point."  

   
Mary nods. She reaches into a pocket and takes out a cell phone. "I'm grateful to you for letting me stay here, but I think I should call Dean..."  

   
"That," Crowley indicates the phone with a nod, "won't work here, love."  

   
"But... you asked Rowena why she didn't call..."  

   
"So I did." The demon shrugs. "Different carrier.  _That_  phone won't work here."  

   
"Do you have one that will?"  

   
"I do."  

   
"May I use it?"  

   
"No." Crowley smiles, his expression all charm, but there's a darkness behind his eyes that chills Mary's  blood. He turns his head, looking to the door as two men in dark suits enter. "See our guest to her quarters," The demon says. "Keep her safe, if you know what's good for you."  

   
"What?" Mary is on her feet, frantically looking for a way out, a weapon as the men approach her. "You can't keep me here!"  

   
"Oh, but I  _can,"_ Crowley replies. "I am. Go along quietly, hmm? I don't  _want_  to see you hurt."  

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A/N So, Sam's a Diamond Rio fan, who knew?_  
>  Songs quoted are Meet in the middle, and You're Gone.
> 
>  
> 
> _Also, this chapter has a shout out to NorthernSparrow's  "Into the Fire." Namely the reference to the guitar Dean found in the attic._
> 
> _If you haven't, and you get the chance, read Into The Fire. It will break you up into little pieces and grind the pieces to powder. But then it will put you back together so gloriously. That story has stayed with me for almost a year since reading it!_
> 
>  
> 
>  _Lastly_ **trigger warning!** extremely subtle (blink and you could miss it) there is a vague reference to self harming. Please be safe!  
> 

Sam runs the razor over the stubble on his jawline. He’s recently showered, clad in boxers. His phone rests on the vanity, and he sings along to the current track. " _Seven hundred fence posts between your place and ours..._ " Curses when the razor nicks his skin. "Dean! We need new razors!" Sam dabs at the blood with a tissue. He rinses the razor and hits the button on his phone to skip to the next track.

  
Dean comes into the bathroom and sets a pack of razors beside the sink. “Here. I found these in my room.”

  
“Thanks,” Sam resets the song to play from the beginning.

  
_"Said hello, I think I'm broken, and though I was only joking, it took me by surprise when you agreed..."_

  
“Do you have to sing?"

  
"I like a bit of country." Sam wipes his face with a towel and frowns when the nick on his chin bleeds again.

  
"Yeah, you got the voice for it," Dean says. He rolls his shoulders, wincing a little, and then adds. "As far out in the country as you can get.."

  
"Jerk." Sam puts the pack of razors in the cabinet over the sink. "Anyway, I've heard you pick a country song or two on that old guitar you found in the attic."

  
"Yeah, but I don't sing!”

  
"Nope. You don’t play all the right notes, either, so I guess we’re even." Sam flings the damp towel at Dean.

  
"Bitch!" Dean deftly twists the towel and pops Sam in the ass with it.

  
"Hey! That stings." Sam grabs the towel and a brief tug-of-war ensues. "So what were you up to all day yesterday? I was worried when you didn’t come home. I'm not prying. It’s just... I mean, you usually tell me if you're gonna be out overnight."

  
Dean wrests the towel out of Sam's grip and tosses it into the laundry hamper. He shrugs. "I was driving. Needed to think."

  
"Oh, and did you?"

  
"Did I what?"

  
"Think out whatever it was you needed to think?"

  
"I didn't need to think _out_ anything. Seriously, you're getting as bad as Cas," Dean says. "Baby needed a run. Open road, no stop lights, no traffic."

  
Sam gives Dean a long look. "There's no need to get defensive. I only asked because usually, we check in with each other. Tell each other what we're planning. You haven't forgotten Lucifer's on the loose, right?" He sighs and brushes past Dean, headed for his bedroom. "Thanks for the razors. I'll buy more next time I'm in town." He shoots a sneaking glance at Dean's shoulders. "Never know when you might need them."

  
"Just what the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean follows Sam.

  
"Why does it have to mean anything?"

  
"I know that look, Sam! You meant something by it."

  
"Did I? What would it matter anyway, if I did? You don’t exactly care about my opinions these days."

  
"Oh fuck, here it comes. What, Sammy, did I say Cas's name? I told you. Me and him? We're done!"

  
"And so are we, the way you’ve been acting lately! It seems like you do your damnedest to be busy all the time!"

  
"I'm doin' my damnedest to find some space! I can't fucking breathe."

  
"Fine! Damn well go wherever you fucking want to! I only asked because I was concerned, Dean. But hey, if it's gonna piss you off, I'll butt the hell out!" Sam scowls when Dean blocks his access to the bedroom. He turns on his heel and walks towards the library.

  
Dean rolls his eyes and throws his hands in the air. "God damn it, Sam! I can't do anything right by you. You need to stow your guilty conscience, dude. I don't _care_ about Gabriel. He's no threat to me!"

  
  
"Oh, please, don't tell me you boys are having another row?" Crowley lounges against the end of a bookcase. "You know, I could recommend some very good counsellors." He nods sagely. "It's therapeutic, talking about your _feelings_."

  
Sam huffs in disgust. "Crowley, why don't you get the fuck out of our home?" He turns to Dean. "I don't have any guilt. It was a mistake, and I told you about it, and I said I was sorry."

  
"Yeah, but you haven't let it go. You think I don't see you texting? Or notice the calls you sneak out of the room to take in the middle of the night?"

  
"Oh, _touché_. Moose. How do you riposte?"

  
Both brothers round in on the demon. "Shut up, Crowley!"

  
"I have let it go. I'm over it, and I'm over you and Cas," Sam says. "I'm just trying to get us back to normal.”

  
Crowley waves a hand and a box of popcorn appears on a table. He grabs a handful and munches on it

  
"And for your information, Dean, all those texts and calls have been to the hunter network _trying_ to get a lead on Lucifer!" Sam scowls at Crowley. "Didn't I tell you you're not welcome here?"

  
"Whatever!" Dean shakes his head. "I need a drink." He heads for the kitchen.

  
"No!" Sam grabs Dean by the shoulder. "We're not done here. Don't go hide your head in a damn bottle!"

  
"Get off me!" Dean growls, he shrugs Sam's hand away.

  
"No, Dean! We need to get this all out in the open."

  
"Don't suppose you boys have any mustard?" Crowley now holds a hot dog in one hand. He raises his eyebrows when the brothers turn to glare at him. "What?"

  
"I swear to God, Crowley..." Dean takes a half-step towards the demon.

  
"Oh, C'mon, Squirrel. It's so rare that I get to enjoy any good entertainment lately. You boys? You're good value. So each of you have been fucking one of God's good little soldiers! You do _know_ that nothing'll come of it. They're fickle creatures. Don't care for any one person, entity, demon, whatever. They don't have the capacity. The big man just didn't add that to the programming. Didn't think they'd ever need it, see?"

  
Both brothers are silent, listening to the demon.

  
Crowley squeezes a generous amount of mustard onto his hot dog and bites into it. "See..." He chews and swallows. "The one thing that made the two of you so hard to be rid of was that whole brother is my lover thing you had going. Just when one of you was trapped firmly on the meathook, along would come the other to risk his soul and spring you out."

  
Dean glances at Sam.

  
"Now, I'm all for making my own life easier for the lack of you two, but all of that, gone, because each of you stuck it to an angel?" Crowley meets Dean's eyes. "And I _do_ know how persuasive Cassie can be."

  
Dean looks away. "He didn't... it wasn't... I made the first move."

  
"Oh, of that I have no doubts. It's our favorite game. Corrupt the sweet angel." Crowley nods. He takes another bite of the hotdog, savoring the morsel before swallowing. "But, seriously, there are better reasons to end a relationship."

  
Dean flicks another glance at Sam, who is studying a spot on the floor with utter absorption.

  
"And as for Gabriel." Crowley turns his attention to Sam now. "What can I say? Once a trickster, always a trickster. He _lives_ to create mischief."

  
Sam seems to come out of his reverie. He takes a seat at the table. "It was only the one time," he says. "I was so mad at you, Dean."

  
"Why?"

  
"Oh, look! They're talking. Guess my work here...yada yada..." Crowley vanishes.

  
"Because Castiel's my friend." Sam shrugs. "If it had been anyone else. A bar hookup... We had an agreement of sorts, Dean. If we were going to play around, it wouldn't be with anyone the other knew."

  
"It was over ages ago, long before you found out."

  
Sam sighs. "But I did find out, and I guess I got scared that it could be more."

  
"But that's not what it was about, Sam!" Dean sits opposite his brother. "It really was more like a random hookup. It was comfort. It was... you were lost to me, Sammy. I was numb. Dead inside. Cas? He _knew_ you. He was hurting for your loss too." Tears well in Dean's eyes. "We only had each other."

  
"If you tell me you fucked each other because you missed me..."

  
"No. Not... it wasn't like that! This isn't _Twilight_!" Dean huffs impatiently. "You know I'm no good at this stuff!"

  
"You promised me that wouldn't happen, that you wouldn't get all... that you'd hunt, or settle down somewhere; have a life!" 

 

"What, you expected me to become a monk?"

  
"No! Just not play house with my friend!"

  
"Play hou—we didn't play house!"

  
"He was in our bed!" 

 

"What the hell? Just what exactly have you pictured in that gigantic brain?"

  
"I don’t know. Him and you, here. I don't _know_!"

  
Dean shakes his head. "It wasn't anything like that. The first time, he was yelling at me about something. I don't even remember what." Dean snorts. "It started out a fight, and turned into something else. We were on a hunt!"

  
Sam swallows hard, drops his gaze to the table top where his fingers twist around each other nervously.

  
"After... I didn't see him for... he took off. Stopped answering his phone. Wouldn't answer prayers."

  
"Why?"

  
"Found out later, he was looking for a way to spring you from the cage."

  
Sam rests an elbow on the table, drops his forehead into his hand. "Why couldn't you just have told me this sooner, Dean?" He looks up, meeting his brother's eyes. "Keeping it back from me all this time? It made me think maybe it _was_ more."

  
"I'm sorry."

  
"Me too."

  
"So, we good?" 

 

"No." Sam shakes his head. "No. We’re better, but we’re not good. Not yet. I need..." He sighs. "I need to process all this."

  
Dean nods. "Okay."

  
"In the meantime. We still gotta find Lucifer, and Mom. She's gonna need our help, big time." Sam pushes to his feet. "Gabriel gave me a lead. Said we ought to try looking in L.A. That's where Lucifer was last. Now he's got a … now that the Nephilim is a thing, Lucifer will want to guard … the mother of his offspring. He'll go looking for her."

  
"Sounds like a plan." Dean gets up. "Let's hit the road."

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first wrote that Castiel had created subterranean gardens in Hell in my story "On The Brink" and I just had to include it here. The gardens are visible from any "guest" chamber in Hell, not just Crowley's.

Mary had expected a dungeon. After all, she is in Hell, held captive by its self-styled king. So she’s surprised when the two henchmen usher her into a spacious though windowless chamber, complete with a queen bed and en-suite bathroom. Clearly, this demon king has his own unique style. That, or the stories she’d heard of Hell had been vastly exaggerated.

Left to her own devices after the demons depart, Mary immediately sets about looking for a weakness she can exploit to her advantage to escape. There are none. The walls are solid stone. The floors as well. The room is impregnable. Mary huffs a breath, standing in the middle of the room. Her eyes track over a pair of heavy damask drapes. She frowns. She could have sworn those were not present when she was escorted in, nor during her exploration of the chamber.

“Why would they be needed? There are no windows…” She approaches the curtains and tentatively reaches out to draw one of them aside.

“Oh!” Wide-eyed with surprise, Mary pushes the curtains open and stares at the vista. A garden, complete with artificial sunlight, trees, flowers and several bee hives spreads out before her. It is completely incongruous. It’s beautiful. Suddenly, it strikes her as hilarious. Mary chuckles. Then she laughs. After a moment, she needs to sit on the bed as helpless giggles spill from her lips.

 _I’m hysterical_ , she thinks. _I must be losing my mind!_ Her laughter takes on a panicked edge and she fights to regain control. After she finally quells the impulse and draws a long, shaky breath, Mary takes her cell phone from her pocket. Crowley had told her it wouldn’t work, but she might as well try.

She taps the home button, watches as the screen obediently lights up. She looks for the bars that Dean told her mean she has reception. There are none. “Damn it.”

A quick, light tapping on the door makes her look up, frowning. She stares at the door in silence until the knock is repeated, a little louder. “C-come in?”

 The door swings open and Rowena steps into the room. At her heels, a demon flunkey bears a tray laden with teapot, cups and saucers. Rowena smiles congenially. 

“I thought you might fancy a wee cuppa, dear, and a little natter. We girls need to stick together!” The witch perches herself on a stool at the foot of the bed, indicating that the demon should set the tray next to her. He does so, and Rowena waves him off imperiously. She turns to Mary. “And _you_ need to keep your strength up.” She picks up the teapot and begins to pour the hot, dark liquid into a cup. “One lump, or two?”

 

 

 

 

+++

Dean’s boots clatter on the stairs as he makes his way to the garage. Sam is close behind him. His footfalls are quieter.

Crowley reflects that the larger of the two brothers is lighter on his feet. He leans against the Impala’s fender, watching them. They’re obviously over their tiff, and back on purpose. The demon smirks.

“You’re not going to find Lucifer where you’re going,” he says.

Dean misses a step and catches hold of the railing to avoid tumbling the rest of the way down.

“Fuck, Crowley! Can’t you use a door?”

The demon shrugs. “Why should I?”

Sam steadies Dean with one hand, making sure his brother has caught his balance. “Didn’t I tell you, you’re not welcome here?” He looks at Dean, “Seriously, we gotta fix the warding!”

“I’m here to try and save you some time on a wild goose chase.” Crowley shrugs. “But…if you _prefer_ to go chasing your tails, it’s no skin off my nose.”

“Wait.” Dean reaches the bottom of the stairs. He ignores Sam’s growl of frustration, keeping his attention on the demon. “If you’ve got a better lead, I’m listening.”

“You won’t find the Dark Lord in LA,” Crowley says. “I can guarantee that.”

“And we should take your word for it, why?”

Crowley looks at Sam. “Because my mother just told me she banished him. You might try the bottom of the Mariana Trench.”

“What? I thought she was supposed to be helping us _find_ him!

 “Well, I suppose stopping him from trying on _your_ mother as his latest prom dress took precedence.” Crowley looks to Dean. “Honestly, can’t you get him some Anger Management Therapy? Seroquel? _Something?”_

“Where’s our mother?” Sam cuts across the Demon’s snark. “If you’ve –“

Crowley sighs. “She’s perfectly safe, and quite comfortable. In Hell.”

“You’ve got Mom?” This time it’s Dean who gets in Crowley’s face. “Bring her here!”

“No can do, love.” Crowley smiles. “She’s leverage.” He steps very slightly out of Dean’s reach, buffs his nails against the lapel of his greatcoat and inspects their shine. “I’ll keep Mommy Dearest safe for you until you’ve put Lucifer back in the cage where he belongs.”

“What do you think we’ve been _trying to do?”_

Crowley tips his head to one side. “You’ve been allowing distractions, your mother, for instance, to get in the way. Problem solved. Give me a bell when you’ve got Lucifer.” With a smirk, the demon vanishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment. Comments are delicious!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been a little while since I posted a chapter of this story.  
> I've actually been working on edits to re-release an original novel of mine.
> 
> This chapter is unbetaed because my awesome beta reader Under_a_grey_cloud is busy copyediting the novel for me!

“Are we sure this is the right place?” Dean turns to look over his shoulder at Castiel who sits in the backseat of the Impala.

“We…as in you and Sam, may not be,” Castiel replies. “ _I_ am.”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to survey the ramshackle house. “Kind of a decrease in pay grade for him, isn’t it?”

“Desperate times,” Castiel says. He climbs out of the car. “I have no doubt Lucifer knows we’re here. That is to say, he knows _I’m_ here. Even Lucifer can’t thwart the sigils on your ribs. No need to employ stealth.” He heads towards the door of the shack.

“Hey, wait!” Dean grabs the angel’s arm.

Castiel halts. He looks down at Dean’s hand, then meets the hunter’s eyes. “What?”

“We’re just gonna walk in there? And what, yell surprise?”

“No. I already told you, he knows…”

Dean huffs a breath. “I _mean_ what’s the plan, Cas?”

Castiel frowns. “You brought the weapon Mr. Ketch gave to you?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Then, you’ll use it. I’ll distract him. He has… unfinished business with me.” Castiel squares his shoulders. He starts to walk again. “And I, with him.”

“Cas…” Dean glances at Sam who shrugs and shakes his head. They follow the angel. Sam pats the front of his jacket, signaling to Dean that the weapon Ketch gave them is at the ready.

Castiel doesn’t pause at the door. He doesn’t even break stride. He extends a hand, palm outwards and the door explodes into splinters. The angel steps right on through.

Dean hurries to catch him up, and draws his gun. He mentally shakes his head. _Like that’s gonna have any effect!_

As Dean steps into the room, Lucifer—he assumes the guy is Lucifer, anyway—is giving Castiel a round of slow applause.

“Bravo, little brother. What an entrance. Should we start calling you Evita?”

“Eva Peron was renowned for her exit,” Castiel deadpans.

“Oh, right!” Lucifer snaps his fingers. “I forgot Metatron gave you a culture implant!” He takes a step towards Castiel and the seraph immediately produces his angel blade.

“Oh, _please_!” Lucifer scoffs. “You _do_ know I can vaporize you with a look.” He seems to notice Sam and Dean for the first time. “Oh, you brought toys! _Thank you!”_ He moves towards Sam and Castiel lunges at him. Lucifer casually flings the angel into a wall. “Don’t interrupt, Cassie.”

Sam backs away as the archangel approaches. He reaches into his jacket. “Don’t come any closer.”

The archangel does a familiar head tilt that marks him as Lucifer to Sam’s eyes better than any words he could say. Lucifer smirks. “Sammy…” his tone is vaguely hurt. “I thought we were bff’s.”

“I’m _not_ your friend!” Sam pulls the egg-shaped device from his jacket and holds it in front of him. “I warned you.”

Lucifer halts. “Where. Did you. Get that?”

“Does it matter?” Sam twists the top of the device as Ketch showed him.

Lucifer steps back a pace when Sam activates the device. “Sam, we can talk this out,” he says. “It doesn’t have to end this way.” He eyes the device with a look that is the closest to fear that Sam has ever seen on him.

“Go to _hell_ , Lucifer!”

For a long moment, nothing happens. Lucifer starts to laugh. “Too bad,” he says. He moves forward again negligently tossing Dean aside. “Looks like it’s you and me, Sam. Together again!” He stops in mid stride. He frowns. A jolt of something shakes his frame.

Sam is panting, his heart thumps wildly. He narrows his eyes. He’s aware that Lucifer could be playing him. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean stumble to his feet. Castiel is behind the archangel, swaying, angel blade in hand. He starts towards Lucifer, but stops when Sam shakes his head.

Lucifer coughs. A wisp of white smoke trickles out of his mouth. He snarls, lunges at Sam but doubles over, choking. The smoke pours out of him, seemingly from every pore of the vessel’s body. Lucifer screams his fury.

Castiel deems it prudent to dive through a doorway into another room.

The house shakes with an inaudible impact. As Sam and Dean watch, the white smoke pools on the floor around Lucifer’s feet, then curls and coils like a snake, flowing across the floor and seeping away through a ventilation grille.

The house falls deathly still. Lucifer’s vessel groans. “Bad trip, man,” he mutters an instant before he crumples to the floor unconscious.

“Is he gone?” Dean looks around the room. “Did we get him?”

Sam hesitates. He scans the room as well. After a moment, he nods. “I… I think so.” He shuts down the weapon.

“He’s gone.” Castiel steps back into the room. “Lucifer is back in the cage.”

“We got him.” Dean says. “Sam! We got the asshole!” He grins.

Sam closes his eyes. So long. So long he’s waited for this moment and now it’s here, it seems anticlimactic. He doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe hellfire and brimstone. Then again, haven’t they had enough of _that_ to last them a dozen lifetimes? He opens his eyes, stares at the egg in his hands a sob breaks from between his lips. _It’s over._

He’s crying, and laughing at the same time. He drops the weapon steps over to Dean and pulls him into a fierce hug. “It’s over. It’s over. It’s over, Dean… Dean, it’s _over!”_

“Yeah.” Dean pulls away, claps Sam on the shoulder. “I vote we go and get shit-faced drunk!”

Sam laughs. “Yeah!” He picks up the weapon and the brothers walk out of the shack with Castiel at their heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History does not record Eva Peron as being "renowned for her exit" as stated by Castiel in this chapter.  
> However, Castiel is drawing on his knowledge of pop-culture as given to him by Metatron. He is referring to the song  
> "Oh What a Circus" from the Broadway show, "Evita" which has the line: "Oh what an exit, that's how to go!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N This chapter takes place after the events of Season 12x10. There may be spoilers for that episode, but they are minor. The story doesn’t really delve into the actual events of the episode, but mentions the effects of those events on Castiel. It is also a Cas POV chapter. I think that’s the first time in the entire series that the pov has deviated from One of the Winchesters. Not unheard of, in even the longest works of fiction, but I just mention it in case anyone is jarred by it. Also, my Castiel might be a shade left of center to his usual characterization both in canon and in my stories, but I feel that what he’s just been through in ep 10 would make that believable._

**Two days later**

Castiel stands in the archway between the war-room and the Library. He watches Sam who sits at a table with his back to the archway. Castiel senses that Sam is aware of his presence, but the hunter has made no outward indication of it. The angel shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Hesitation is not usually in his nature, but he feels uncertain about what to do.

Clearing his throat, Castiel forces his feet to propel him forward. He stands just behind the hunter. “Sam,” he says. He waits for an acknowledgement. Sam turns a page in the book he’s staring at. He turns another. He doesn’t respond.

Castiel takes a deep breath. “I think we should talk,” he says.

Sam glances up at him, and then turns back to his book. “Then you’d better sit down.”

Castiel stiffly folds himself into the chair opposite Sam. He puts his hands in his lap, and then moves them to lay palms down on the table-top. He tries to meet Sam’s eyes, but the hunter won’t look at him.

Eventually, when Castiel doesn’t speak, Sam looks up. “What’s up?”

Castiel clasps his hands together on the table. “When I’ve been on earth in the past, it was always so… _simple_ is not really the word. I guess… cut and dry. We had a mission. Orders to follow…”

“Yeah, orders. I get that.” Sam looks away. He flips another page. “You should’ve met John Winchester.”

“My flight— _I—_ knew what to do. We— _I—_ did it, and that was that.” Castiel drops his gaze to his hands, noticing that his fingers seem to have their own agenda and are twisting around each other restlessly. He focuses on restoring stillness.

“What are you getting at, Cas?”

“This time… I chose not to follow orders. I abandoned my flights. They are all dead. I’ve…made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. Particularly, I’ve hurt people I care about.”

Sam shrugs. “It happens, Cas.”

The angel frowns. “I’m sorry. There are no excuses for…there were _reasons_ , but no excuses. Please, Sam. If you can. Forgive me. I understand if that’s not possible.”

Sam’s lips twitch and for a moment, Castiel thinks that the hunter is about to laugh. He tilts his head. He imagines a scenario wherein Sam laughs, and forgives him. Perhaps, they hug. Perhaps they share a drink. Perhaps it is all okay between them again.

“Cas, it takes two. It’s fine,” Sam says.

The rosy vision crumbles. Castiel gets a sinking feeling. He knows that word, ‘ _fine,’_ he knows it means anything _but_ fine. He tries again.

“Dean was... So broken. I only meant to offer comfort.” His brows knit together. “Perhaps, my inexperience with human… I wonder if, somehow, I sent him the wrong messages.”

“You fucked. It’s _fine.”_ Sam is speaking between gritted teeth now.

“No. It’s not,” Castiel insists. “Not only is that…not only is copulating with a human a grave sin for an angel; I’m aware, now, of the human taboos around sleeping with the lover of a friend.” He pauses. “Also, ‘Fine’ is a word that you and Dean employ as an avoidance mechanism.”

He’s said the wrong thing. Castiel senses that an instant before Sam pushes to his feet.

“You want my forgiveness, Cas? Fine! You have it. Dean was in a state. I get it, okay? Both of you were so upset about me being dead you… _‘copulated’_ with each other. But you know what, Cas? I’ve been dead before!” Sam is panting. His face is flushed. Castiel can hear the man’s heart beating fast and ragged behind his ribcage. The hurt and anger coming off Sam makes Castiel flinch. “Why this time, Castiel? Why jump each other’s bones _this time?!”_

Castiel sighs. “I’ve endeavored to understand that,” he says. “I can only surmise that I did, or said something to make Dean think that was my intention.” He meets Sam’s gaze, trying to put his own sadness and confusion into his look.

It’s so _difficult_ to communicate with humans. Their senses are dulled. They don’t see, hear or sense any of the cues that an angel can. There is no telepathy. He can’t angle his wings just _so_ and receive the understanding of a brother.

Sam and Dean call Castiel brother; family, but this is such a pale shadow of the fraternity he had with his flights, with Ishim, Benjamin, Mirabel; and later, when he led Balthazar and Uriel.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says when he realizes that Sam hasn’t picked up his cues.

“Look, Cas, it happened, okay. You and Dean have told me why. He says it won’t happen again and you say it was a mistake. So, to use my ‘Winchester word of avoidance,’ _fine!_ What more do you want from me? You’re my friend, Cas, and Dean was my…he’s my brother. I just expected more from both of you, but you know what? Everything in the world is fucked up right now. So, maybe we start with just trying to get along again. Maybe we just concentrate on what we do best. Hunting.”

Castiel lowers his gaze. He draws a deep breath. It’s not enough. It’s not the absolution he craves. Perhaps, in this ‘fucked up’ world absolution is no longer possible. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Thank you.” He stands. “I will continue to search for Lucifer’s Nephilim, and its mother.” He cannot use his wings, since the fall, and he misses the ability to simply vanish. He takes a step towards the stairs, but pauses when Sam speaks.

“Cas, I don’t know what the fuck Dean wants. We have sex that I always initiate, and he says I’m smothering him. _You_ want something from me and I don’t know how to do or say more than I have. I’m hurt, Cas.” Sam shakes his head. “I used to _pray_ to you. Tell you my fears, my dreams…”

Castiel feels the hurt behind the words. It twists in his heart like ice and shattered glass. He closes his eyes against the painful onslaught, but he stays. He listens.

“You and I are family. Dean and me?” Sam shakes his head a gesture of uncertainty. “After you, I’m not sure what I am to him anymore. But I’m still his brother. So, we look for Mom, and we do what we need to do, and we work the other shit out along the way, if we can. Okay?”

Castiel has a flash of irritation. He’s not even sure that it’s directed at Sam, but he lashes out at the hunter anyway. “Yes! I understood you the first time. I _can_ hear the thoughts behind your words, Sam.”

Sam scoffs and turns on his heel, headed for the kitchen. “Must be _great_ to be you,” he flings over his shoulder as he departs.

Hurt, Castiel stands rooted to the spot a moment longer. He might not have his wings, but he _does_ have magic, taught to him by the king of Hell. He uses it, zapping himself into Hades, where he instantly smites a hapless demon who happens to be standing near where Castiel lands.

Rowena is in the room, but she scrambles for the nearest exit. “Fergus!” she shouts. “Company.”

Crowley seems to materialize out of nothing. Absent one instant; there the next. He glances at the dead demon and wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Kitten, you  do realize I’m trying to build up my little band of merry demons,” he says. “You turning them into hound chow every time you visit, makes the minions uneasy.”

Still flushed with irritation, Castiel sends Crowley a withering glance. “Does this…” He draws a circle in front of his face. “Look like a face that cares?”

The snark earns a raised eyebrow and a chuckle. “What have the Winchesters done now?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Castiel says. He helps himself to a drink.

“Ah. Moose is still huffing. I warned you to leave it be, Cassie. Those boys fall in, and they fall out. It’s how they do.”

Castiel downs the whiskey and pours another. “There are times when I wish I could be done with them.”

“Any time, pigeon, just say the word.”

Castiel lets that slide. He knows that the demon won’t lift a hand against the hunters. “I want to get drunk, and I want to fuck,” he growls. “Not necessarily in that order.”

“Such a sweet talker.” Crowley snaps his fingers. They’re immediately in the demon’s bed, naked. “You can drink a good malt, any time,” he says. “Opportunities for this? Well, far rarer these days.”

Castiel rolls the demon onto his back, every inch the alpha in this moment. “Stop. Talking.” He crushes his mouth to Crowley’s lips, the merest hint of Lucifer present in his actions. 

When he pulls away, the demon is scowling, looking more than a little ruffled by the near assault. He growls low and lifts his head from the pillows to savagely bite Castiel’s lower lip, drawing blood and a flash of wounded grace.

And like that, the irritation drains away and Castiel is left panting, hurting from the physical burn of demonic contact with his grace, and the emotional ache that runs too deep and too wide for him to fully comprehend. The angel sobs. “Fuck! _Help me!_ ” he pleads.

“Shh, Kitten. I’m here. I’m all yours. Let me help you clear that pretty little head of yours.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after _Regarding Dean_

It had been some party. Sam gathers up empty beer bottles and tosses them into the trash. He puts the stopper in a decanter of whiskey and carries it to the library. Dean slumps at one of the tables nursing a hangover, glaring into a cooling mug of black coffee.

Sam moves around the room, picking up an empty pizza box, a couple of wrappers from burgers. He glances at Castiel who, despite saying last night that liquor wouldn’t have much effect, appears pale and drawn. The angel nods when he catches Sam’s eyes on him. “Good morning,” he says in that gravelly voice.

“Hey,” Sam replies. He continues to tidy up. “You okay?”

The angel gives another, stiff nod. “I’m well.”

“Then get over here and lay some mojo on me,” Dean says. “My head’s about to explode.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel replies. “After Ishim, there is not much ‘mojo’ to spare.” Nevertheless, he goes to Dean and presses his fingers against the hunter’s forehead.

Sam shakes his head, noticing how Castiel's shoulders seem to droop further after he expends what little grace he can to heal Dean. “Hangovers are self-inflicted,” Sam says. “You don’t heal them. You give him Advil.”

Castiel sends him an inquisitive look, and Sam ducks his head, avoiding the angel’s eyes as he heads back to the kitchen to dump the trash. Things between himself and Castiel are still tense. He’d tried, last night, to act ‘normally’ while they celebrated Dean's survival, but it hadn’t really been successful. Sam picks up a damp cloth from beside the sink and starts wiping down the kitchen table. Between hunting, and finding reasons to get drunk, Dean hasn't left a lot of time for anything else. Sam wonders just how many more excuses his brother will find to avoid the bigger issues. Okay, so surviving the memory wiping hex was a cause for celebration, but still. They're just spinning their wheels on the relationship problems. Sam huffs out a breath, scrubbing at a patch of grease on the table a little harder than necessary.

Also, there is the issue of their mother. Crowley had said he would keep Mary in Hell until Sam and Dean recaptured Lucifer. Yet, the demon steadfastly fails to answer his phone. Sam scowls. He flings the cloth into the sink and heads for his bedroom. He'll call Crowley again, and if there is no answer this time, he’ll go track the king down himself.

 Stepping into the hallway, Sam stops in his tracks with a muttered curse when he almost collides with Castiel.

“Sam…”

“If this is about yesterday I’m…”

“No.” Castiel puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Hear me out. This is about Dean.”

“What about him?” Sam sighs. It’s obvious the angel’s not going to let him go, so he may as well face him.

 “He’s distracted, Sam. Making mistakes. He…almost died.”

“So, tell me something I don’t already know.” Sam brushes past the angel. “He…”

“Sam, stop!” Castiel grabs Sam’s arm.

“Look, Cas. I _understand_ that you’re worried about Dean. _I’m_ worried about him, but what the fuck do you want me to do? I’ve talked to him till I’m hoarse. I’ve _tried_ to get through to him! I know _you’ve_ talked to him. He wants to carry on as if nothing ever happened. There’s not a lot we can do about that.”

“Why was he alone, Sam?”

“Oh…” Sam shakes his head. “No way! You’re not gonna put that on me, Cas! Dean doesn’t tell me what he’s doing every minute of every day. He goes off hunting a witch on his own, won’t answer his phone, turns off the GPS? Just _how_ am I responsible for that?”

Castiel lets out a breath. His eyes are big and sad. He lets his hand drop. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I want to _help,_ Sam.”

“So, start by getting your boyfriend to answer his goddamned phone, and uphold his end of the bargain by sending Mom home!”

“Crowley is _not_ my…” The angel falters. His eyes go even wider, this time with shock. “He has your mother?”

“You didn’t know?”

Castiel practically sneers. “Crowley doesn’t tell me what he’s doing every minute of every day,” he mimics Sam’s words faultlessly.

“He’s rubbing off on you,” Sam muses. “So, can you call him, or something? Maybe he’ll pick up for you. It would go a long way to helping Dean.”

Castiel ponders for a moment.

“You _want_ to help Dean, right?”

“All _right,_ Sam.” The angel pulls his cell phone from his pocket and dials Crowley. After a pause, Castiel says. “You have Mary Winchester. Release her. _Now._ ”

Sam can’t hear Crowley’s response, but Castiel’s face darkens with temper. “Don’t prevaricate. I know you have her. Send her home.” Another pause and then. “I’ll come and get her.”

Sam takes a half step towards Castiel. “I’m going with you,” he says. The angel sends him a dark look. After a moment, he grunts and then ends the call. He meets Sam’s eyes.

“I’ll go alone,” he growls. “Crowley is _still_ dangerous, even though you and Dean seem to think that he’s been tamed.” He doesn’t wait for a response, but turns on his heel and heads out of the bunker.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A/N: This is a bonus chapter, a little bit of fluff and mush that sneaked its way in among all the angst._  
>  What can I say? It was Valentine's day. I never thought that Crowley would do this! But, I guess the romance of the holiday got to him. Although, his idea of a valentine's celebration is somewhat different to the norm.  
>   
>  _"Screw the roses, send me the thorns!"_

 Mary is lying on her bed, dozing when the door of her chamber swings open. She sits up, laying a protective hand over her belly and blinks at the demon who entered. He’s one of Crowley’s inner circle. Mary knows him as Deering.

“What do you want?” She gets off the bed, taking a defensive stance, ready to fight if necessary.

“His Majesty wants you in the throne room,” Deering says. He doesn’t attempt to touch her. Perhaps recalling how badly that went last time. He makes a mocking half bow and gestures towards the the corridor.

Mary walks by him and out of the door. She’s instantly on the alert for any possibility of escape, but her reputation has preceded her and the corridor is well guarded.

She walks into Crowley’s throne room and does her best not to shudder under the appraising look the demon gives her.

“Well now, don’t you look radiant? The whole expectant mother thing is a good look on you.” The demon says. He raises the glass of whiskey he holds. “I’d offer you one, but in your delicate condition… tea, perhaps?”

“I don’t want anything,” Mary replies.

The demon inclines his head, ever the soul of charm. He waves a hand and a low wooden sofa with scrolled arm rests slides in behind her. “Have a seat, love.” He waits for her to settle on the cushioned seat. “How far along are you now?” As he speaks, those speculative dark eyes travel over Mary’s belly.

“You know as well as I do, it’s been two months since I was with…him.”

Crowley hums. “Well, I think we can safely say that things are moving a little faster than usual, hm?” He sips his drink. “Hardly surprising, I suppose, given who Daddy is.”

“I’m sure you didn’t summon me to compare notes about my baby. Why am I here?”

“You’re about to have a visitor,” Crowley replies. “Does pregnancy always make you irritable?”

Mary opens her mouth to reply. Her words are cut off when the door opens and Castiel strides into the room. She pushes awkwardly to her feet, her belly making her clumsier than usual. “Castiel!”

The angel had been focused on Crowley, but turns his gaze on Mary. He stumbles a little, his expression registering surprise. His eyes go from her face, to the pregnant belly and back. “Mary… You…you’re…”

“Very. Pregnant.” Crowley smirks. “I _told_ you there were complications to returning her.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. He shoots Crowley the briefest glance, but his focus is quickly back on Mary. “It’s YOU?” His face, already pale and gaunt when he entered, seems to lose even more color.

“Oh, for pity's sake!” Crowley gestures another chair into position behind Castiel. “What on earth have you been up to? Sit down, before you fall down!”

 The angel disregards the chair. “I’m fine!” He studies Mary with such intensity that she feels uncomfortable. Laying her hands across her belly, she takes a backwards step.

“She is the…” The angel finally wrests his gaze from Mary and turns to Crowley. “Is she aware of what this means?”

“We hadn’t had that conversation yet,” Crowley replies. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Allowing her back up topside would be a mistake, Cassie. Those two oafs will do anything it takes to protect her and … that.” He gestures vaguely at the growing fetus in Mary’s womb.  “Creating untold headaches for all concerned.”

Castiel walks over to the demon and they huddle together, conversing in hushed tones.

Annoyed, Mary takes a few steps towards them. “Since this is obviously about me, I think I have the right to know what’s going on,” she says.

Crowley turns to her. He opens his mouth to speak but the angel steps forward. “No. Not yet. I need to speak to Sam and Dean, first.”

“Of _course!_ ” The demon rolls his eyes. “Devon!” he shouts. “Deakin! Whatever your damned name is, get in here!”

Deering scurries into the room and sketches a bow. “My king?”

“Take our guest back to her quarters,” Crowley growls and Deering grabs Mary by her arm. “Gently, you moron! You can see the lady is _enceinte!_ ”

“Keep her safe,” Castiel rumbles. He turns to the king. “On your life, Crowley.”

* * *

“On my _life?”_ Crowley scoffs. “Look at you, Castiel! You’re as weak as a kitten!”

Castiel huffs in annoyance. “Are you certain that Lucifer cannot foil the cage, this time?”

“There are more locks and sigils on that damn cage than exist on any gate I control on the entire bloody planet!” Crowley shoves Castiel towards the chair he indicated. “You, sit! NOW!”

For a moment, the angel looks inclined to defy Crowley, but he seems to think better of it, and sinks into the chair. Crowley gives him a look that warns him not to move, and then goes to a warded cabinet at the side of the room.  “I swear, I had no hand in this,” he says. “And the demon who did is very sincerely dead.” He takes a small, silver flask from the cabinet and returns to Castiel’s side. “I don’t know what he planned to do with this, but now that I have it, I think it shouldn’t be allowed to go to waste. Consider this my gift to you, in honor of St Valentine.”

“ _You_ want to honor the patron saint of hearts and roses?”

“Well. I prefer to celebrate Lupercalia; there’s something aesthetically pleasing about sacrificing dogs and goats to beat women with their hides.” Crowley hands the flask to Castiel. “Take it, Kitten.”

The angel takes the silver flask and stares at it for a long moment. He can feel the grace contained inside swirling, restless, searching for its owner. “You know this won’t work,” he says.

“I know it won’t sustain you for long. Think of it like taking one of those energy drinks the Coffee Klatch are so into nowadays. You need to do _something._  Here’s a solution.” The demon pours two glasses of whiskey and hands one to Castiel. “I didn’t arrange for this. Everyone here’s under orders that until things get back to normal and the numbers are more balanced on either side, killing angels is off limits.” He indicates the flask with a nod. “But there it is. Why let it go to waste?”

“My strength cannot rebuild,” Castiel says. His voice is edged with such pathos that it makes the demon curl his lips in a snarl. “Not with heaven closed.”

“That’s just one more thing we need to sort out,” Crowley says. “It’s on my list, believe me. Right after we figure out what to do with Lucifer’s sprog. It’s a boost until you can regain your strength.  Bottoms up, Cassie. If for no other reason than it means your kinsman didn’t die in vain.”

Castiel runs his fingers over the surface of the flask, feeling the grace within vibrate sympathetically. “Kinswoman. Lemura,” he murmurs. “I knew her.” He closes his eyes. “So many. So many are dead.”

“I didn’t kill her, Kitten. On my honor. I disposed of the demon who did. Drink it, Castiel. You need this.”

 “Why am _I_ any worthier to live?”

Crowley growls and grips the angel’s shoulders, shaking him. “Because I damn well _love_ you!”

“You…” Castiel lifts his gaze to meet the demon’s eyes.

“You know it’s true, love. You’ve always known.”

“But…”

“There has only ever been one angel in my bed. One angel allowed to roam the halls of Hell. _One_ angel allowed to stand in my way—to stop me doing what the king of hell should be doing! That’s you. Why do you think I’d allow all that? Why do you suppose I haven’t gutted you long ago?”

“You’ve always said it was because I’m useful. That this was all just…” Castiel gestures vaguely with one hand.

“You know I prevaricate, Castiel. It’s what we demons do! I. Love. You.” Crowley repeats.

“Angels are not capable of love.” Castiel states firmly. “Demons don’t have feelings.” Castiel meets Crowley’s eyes and says. “You always say that you’re not my boyfriend.”

Crowley groans and rolls his eyes. “I’m _not your bloody boyfriend!_ Boyfriends are for silly teenage girls. You’re an angel, Castiel! An ancient being, strong and beautiful. You deserve something a lot more substantial than a _boyfriend!_ And that tripe about demons being incapable of love? That’s bollocks. I _can_ love! I love _you!_ You’re my equal. You don’t fear me. You don’t cringe or cower or tremble. You challenge me and you give me all of yourself.”

“You love me…”

“Yes! Now please, love. Drink.” Crowley kisses him.

Castiel holds the demon’s gaze for a long moment when their lips part. He draws a long breath and lifts the flask, stroking his fingers across the silver casing. For the first time in many weeks, Castiel begins to feel something other than the choking despair that has accompanied his every word and action. He begins to think that perhaps there is a reason for everything. That maybe he can continue for a little while longer. That maybe it is worth holding on and trying to find some way to open heaven. That there may be some possibility, however remote, of regaining his wings. He looks up from the flask and meets Crowley’s dark, worried eyes. He smiles. He decides.

“I will hold on.” Castiel takes the stopper from the flask and raises it to his mouth. “Forgive me, sister.” He drinks.

Crowley wilts a little as tension and worry leech out of him. “She will forgive you, love.”

Castiel bows his head, shivering as cold grace flows into him and his strength is restored. He feels power flooding his vessel, healing small hurts. His wings tremble and Castiel flexes them, wishing that it were enough, but the pinions remain broken.

“You should rest, Castiel,” Crowley says.

The angel looks up. “I…love you.” He says.

“I _know_ that!” Crowley holds a hand out to him. “Come on. After you’ve fully recovered, we’ll go see the Winchesters together.”

Castiel stands. He places his hand in Crowley’s and allows the demon to lead him to his bedchamber.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been vaguely following canon for the last couple of chapters, but this one departs completely from the canon arc.

If Dean examined his motives, he’d have to admit that he was hiding from Sam. He doesn’t examine them. He creeps into the kitchen when he knows Sam is showering, and makes himself a triple stacked sandwich loaded with bologna and cheese and a liberal slathering of mustard for good measure. He snags a beer from the fridge and carries his lunch into the hallway, headed for his bedroom.

“Did you clean up your mess?”

 _Damn! Busted!_ Dean meets his brother’s eyes. “What mess?”

“The kitchen, Dean! I'm not your damn house keeper!” Sam stalks into the kitchen and tosses knives and a chopping board into the sink. “I’m so sick of picking up after you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I woulda done it after I ate my lunch, dude! No one's asking you to be a martyr.”

“Oh really? Just like you left everything lying about last night and the night before? How about the _fantastic_ way you cleaned up after your damn binges last week?”

Dean storms back into the kitchen. “I'm getting fucking sick of your bitching, Sam! Maybe you should call Gabriel or something. Cause you so need to get laid.”

“Well that cuts both ways! I’m getting sick of you being a lazy asshole who expects everyone to pick up after…” Sam blinks as Dean’s words register. “ _Fuck_ you!” He turns on his heel and swings at Dean. The punch connects solidly just below Dean’s right eye socket, sending him staggering backwards. The plate, sandwich and bottle of beer crash to the floor with an explosion of shattering glass.

“Fuck!” Dean presses a hand to his cheek. He works his jaw, and blinks a few times to clear his vision. He looks up, meeting Sam’s eyes. “Feel better?” He gets an ice pack from the freezer and applies it to his rapidly swelling eye. He’s not expecting contrition, and he doesn’t get any.

“Maybe it's _you_ that needs to get fucking laid,” Sam growls.  “Oh, wait a minute, your slut is off playing house with the king of Hell.”

“Jesus, Sammy! How many times are we gonna go over this?”

“I don't know, Dean. You started it, as I recall.”

“You know what? I’m done!” Dean throws his hands in the air. He stalks out of the kitchen, leaving the mess of beer, broken glass and soggy bread on the floor. “I’m gonna find someplace that I can have a sandwich and a fucking beer in peace!”

Sam follows Dean out of the kitchen and grabs his jacket from the hall stand. “No! _I'm_ done! Garth’s looking for help with a job in Wisconsin and I’m pretty sure I could help in my sleep. You and your sweetheart angel and demon can play happy family for the rest of your damn lives as far as I care. Don't think I don't remember how you like three in a bed!”  Sam passes Dean and heads for the garage.

He takes a Dodge Dart Demon that has been sitting in the garage untouched since he and Dean found the bunker. After he’s been on the road and calmed down, he picks up his phone, puts it on speaker, and dials Garth. “Hey it's Sam,” he says when Garth picks up.

 _Sam! Hey!_ Garth sounds genuinely pleased to hear his voice. _I was hoping you’d call. Given any_ _more thought to that case I told you about?_ ”

“Yeah. I'm on my way out now. Dean and Cas are chasing up a few things here, so I'm at a bit of a loose end. I thought I might as well help.”

_We can always use an extra pair of hands._

“How's the pack doing? No problems?”

_All good. I swear. We're all on the straight and narrow here._

“Great! I knew you could do it. I’m looking forward to meeting the new additions. Are the kids we sent up fitti—” Sam’s words break off as the windshield suddenly fragments. At the same instant, Sam feels a stinging impact against the side of his neck. For a second, he thinks that a huge stone has broken the safety glass, but there are no other vehicles nearby that could have cast it. He pulls his hand away from his neck to find it covered with blood. He can’t see clearly. Pebbles of glass obscure his vision and he feels a rush of something hot flow over his shoulder and down his arm. His head starts to feel fuzzy. “Wha…

Sam’s car runs off the road and careens down the embankment before he fully realizes what is happening. A heavy weariness settles over him. He is aware of something red in his peripheral vision. Red and wet and… Sam slumps forward over the wheel. The car slams head on into a tree. Everything goes black.

Sam’s phone lies on the floor well, next to his foot. Garth’s voice calls desperately through the speaker. _Sam? Hello? Sam!_

***

Dean shoves the mess out of the way, makes another sandwich and eats it before cleaning up. He’s just dumping the last of the shattered beer bottle and plate into the trash when his phone buzzes. He pulls it from his pocket, sees “Garth Fitzgerald IV” on the screen. He thumbs the answer button. “Garth, hey. What’s up? Sam’s on his way to you.”

 _Dean, it’s Bess,_ Garth’s wife replies. _Sam’s the reason I’m calling. Something’s happened to him._

“What? What d’you mean something’s happened?”

_I’m not sure. Garth says he was talking to Sam on the phone, and then Sam just went silent. The line went dead, and when he tried calling back, the phone went straight to voicemail._

Dean hears Garth’s voice in the background. Although Dean can’t make out the words, he can detect the unmistakable edge of panic. He feels his blood run cold. “Where? Did Sam give a location?”

 _Hold on._ Dean hears rustling on the other end of the line as Bess lowers the phone. _Garth? Honey? Did Sam say where he was? Breathe, sweetheart. Think._

 _Just that he was coming here._ Garth replies, shaken.

Dean closes his eyes. Sam left the bunker less than forty-five minutes ago. If he was headed for Wisconsin he’d be on US-281, maybe somewhere near Blue Hill, Nebraska. He speaks urgently into the phone. “Bess, tell Garth to calm down. Monitor the emergency channels. I gotta go! I’ll call you if I find anything.”

_I’m on it. We’ll call if there’s news._

***

**US-281 Near Blue Hill Nebraska**

Steam escapes from under the crumpled hood of the Dodge. The car is jammed against the solid trunk of a tree. The horn blares incessantly, from the weight of the driver’s body pressing against the steering wheel. Pebbles of glass glitter in the afternoon sun as Toni Bevell approaches the car. She holds a gun, cocked, aimed at the driver as she peers in through the shattered windshield.

Seeing no movement, she reaches in through the driver’s window. “Sam?” She prods his shoulder with the gun. When there is no response, Toni pushes his body away from the steering wheel and the horn falls silent.

“It didn’t need to be this way,” Toni says. “But you and your brother are in the way.” She stands for a moment, watching the steady flow of blood from the wound in Sam’s neck. The blood makes a rapidly growing stain on his shirt, and ruby droplets glisten on the steering wheel. Toni shakes her head, turning away to take her buzzing phone from her pocket.

“Yes?” She listens to the caller for a moment. “It’s just Dean, now… Of course he will, don’t worry. I’ll keep you apprised.” She ends the call and leans against the fender of Sam’s car to wait.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man! The muse is working my fingers to the bone these past few days. Here's a Buckeye Bonus Chapter.

Dean guns the engine as the Impala flies down the highway. He’d crossed the border into Nebraska ten minutes ago, and he knows he must be getting close to the spot where Sam went silent. He scans the road ahead for the slightest hint of trouble. It’s not long before the glitter of broken safety glass catches his eye. Dean slows the Impala, reading the signs of a single vehicle accident. The pebbles of glass, the skid marks, and the unmistakable wheel ruts show where the car ran off the road.

His heart racks up to a frantic staccato against his ribs. Dean pulls over and gets out of the Impala. He sees the Dodge, slammed nose first into a tree. He fumbles for his phone and dials 911. He’s babbling location and details into the phone, even as he hurries towards the wreck.

“Sam!” Dean scrambles down the deep embankment. “Sammy?”

“Stop right there, Dean. You’re too late.” Toni Bevell steps out from behind the tree. She points a gun at him.

Dean slides to a stop. He keeps the 911 call open, instinctively going for the Glock tucked in the back of his jeans. He stops when Toni cocks her pistol.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Dean raises his hands palm outwards, and nods towards the car. “Let me go to him.”

“There's truly nothing you can do for him, Dean.”

“Then you'd better _shoot me_ _now, bitch_ , because there's no way you're getting out of here alive while I'm still breathing.”

Toni sighs “Oh, now really, is there any need for that kind of language?”

The wail of approaching sirens makes Toni adjust her grip. “Time's up. Say goodbye to your brother, Dean.”

“Really? You’re gonna shoot me? Shouldn’t you be hightailing it before those sirens get here?” Dean scoffs. “Man, I knew you were crazy, but that’s just insane.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, I’ve got time,” Toni says. “I can kill you and still be long gone before they get here.” She begins to circle around Dean, trying to get between him and the road.

Dean tracks her, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s easy to take a shot at someone in a moving car,” he says. “There’s that distance, it’s impersonal. You don’t have to look someone in the eyes as you pull the trigger.”

The sirens are closer now. Dean tips his head to one side. “Completely different matter, face to face. I don’t think you’ve got the guts.” He edges towards her but stops when she takes aim at his heart.

“Don’t underestimate me, Dean. Your brother already made that mistake.”

“So do it. Pull the trigger,” Dean goads.

Dean hears a pop and flinches, closing his eyes at the whine of a bullet. Suddenly there are voices clamoring at him over the buzzing in his ears. Dazed, he looks around as paramedics swarm the Dodge. A deputy is shouting at him. Dean can't make out the words. He shakes his head, confused. He pats himself down, looking for a bullet wound. “What...what happened? Am I dead?”

“No, but it was a near thing, son. Who was she?” The deputy glances to the side.

Dean follows his gaze. He sees Toni Bevell lying crumpled on the ground, lifeless.

“Why was she trying to shoot you?” The deputy returns his gaze to Dean.

Dean takes a step towards the Dodge. “Sam... my brother. My brother! Is he okay?!” He tries to shrug off the deputy’s grip on his arm.

“Son, I think you should let the paramedics handle this. It doesn't look good for the boy behind the wheel.”

“No. No! Nonono!” Dean struggles in the deputy's grip. “Sam! Sammy!” He watches helplessly as the paramedics gently maneuver Sam out of the car and lay him on a backboard. One EMT secures Sam’s head while another starts chest compressions.

“Why don’t you come on back and take a seat in the cruiser? We can talk while the paramedics work.” The deputy applies gentle pressure, guiding Dean towards the road.

Dragging his feet, Dean looks over his shoulder at Sam. “Don’t leave me, Sam. Don’t leave me!”

They reach the cruiser and the deputy opens the rear door, gently guiding Dean in before getting into the driver’s seat. Another cop brings an insulated blanket and wraps it around Dean’s shoulders.

The deputy turns to face Dean. “Can you explain what went on here? The woman. I have to ask this. Was she your brother’s lover? It’s my experience that hate can run deep when things go sour.”

Dean shakes his head. “No. He’s my… He doesn’t have a girlfriend.” Dean feels a sharp pang as the words about things going sour sink in. He gasps for breath, closes his eyes and swallows hard. His mouth, dust-dry a second before, suddenly fills with bitter bile. He frantically tries to open the rear door, but it’s locked, no way to unlock it. He pitches forward and throws up. The deputy opens the front windows to let in a little fresh air.

“Easy now.” The deputy leans over and rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

They both watch as the paramedics come up the embankment, bearing Sam’s large frame on the backboard. One of the EMTs breaks away and approaches the cruiser. The deputy turns his head to speak with her.

“Deputy Corbin, we're gonna get this one to the County Hospital now he's stable enough to move.”

Dean looks up, hearing the word stable. “He's okay? He's gonna be okay?”

The paramedic shakes her head. “Sir, he’s been shot in the neck. It’s through and through, but he’s lost a lot of blood. We’re doing everything we can.”

“I want to ride with him!”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, the deputy says. He starts the car, then turns it off again when a black town car pulls up in front of the police cruiser, blocking it in. Two men in dark suits step out of the vehicle and approach the deputy. Dean recognizes Mick Davies and Arthur Ketch. He looks away, not wanting to let on that he knows them, but he can make out snatches of their conversation with the cop. He hears words like ‘agents,’ ‘fugitives,’ ‘warrants.’ Dean closes his eyes. He hasn’t got many reasons to trust the Men of Letters, especially in the present circumstances.

Davies and Ketch _did_ help with caging Lucifer though. They’re the closest Dean has to allies right now. He keeps quiet, and lets the Men of Letters do what they do best.

Mick gestures for the deputy to open the rear doors. He approaches Dean and slaps a pair of cuffs on his wrists, speaking quietly. “Play along, my good man, hm? We'll have this squared away in no time.”

Dean cooperates as he is ‘arrested’ and loaded into the town car. He watches as the EMTs close the ambulance doors and speed away with Sam on board. His eyes sting with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, Babe.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if you could be so kind as to spare a comment? Just a nickel and dime word or two. This feedback starved author would really appreciate it! *shakes her tin cup*


	19. Chapter 19

Dean hovers in the doorway for a long time before he can bring himself to step into Sam’s hospital room. The Men of Letters had released Dean from the fake 'arrest' with assurances from both Mick Davies and Arthur Ketch that Sam would receive the very best care. Dean needn't worry about money, or anything else. The MOL have it covered. They assure Dean it’s the least they can do.

The platitudes made Dean want to throw up again.

He pulls a chair near the bed and sits down, staring at his brother. His eyes track slowly over the swathed bandages around Sam's throat, the tubes, the wires.

"She's dead, Sammy. She won't ever hurt you again,” Dean whispers. He reaches for Sam’s hand, but pulls back when a nurse enters the room.

“Mister Winchester.” The nurse smiles.  “Is there anything I can get you? You look like you’ve been in the wars yourself.”

Dean lifts a hand, his fingers passing across the bruise under his eye. He’d forgotten about it, in all the commotion of the past few hours. “I’m…” Dean realizes that ‘fine’ is not quite the word for how he feels. He shakes his head. Under his breath, he mutters. “Get me an angel at full power.”

The nurse checks on the machines by Sam’s bed. She rearranges a length of plastic tubing so that it hangs clear of the bedclothes, adjusts a dial on the IV line to increase the flow rate. Dean watches her bleakly. He parts his lips to ask her how Sam is doing, but doesn’t speak.

The nurse turns to him. “We have priests available to the hospital.” She speaks in that muted tone people use when they deliver bad news.

Dean wants to scream at her to fuck off. He doesn’t want to hear. 

“We weren’t sure of Sam’s denomination, as it's not on record.”

Dean flicks a glance at her, hating the pity he sees in her expression. He returns his gaze to Sam. If he could will his brother to open his eyes, he would. _A priest._

Dean’s mind travels years into the past and conjures an image of Pastor Jim Murphy. His heart is suddenly flooded with a lonely longing for the men and women they’ve lost over the years. Dad, Pastor Jim, Ellen, Jo, Bobby. It’s a roll call of tragedy. He grits his teeth until they’re about to crack. He looks at the nurse, still waiting for his response.

“Our Pastor’s dead,” he rasps. “Long time ago.”

“Would you like to speak with Sam’s surgeon?”

A sudden thought occurs and Dean sits straighter in his chair. “Mom!” He gets up. “Fuck! No one’s told Mom!”

“I can call her for you,” the nurse offers.

Dean knows she is only trying to help, but she gets on his nerves. He has to rein in the urge to shove her away when she lays a hand on his shoulder. He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly before he replies.

“No. I ... I’ll call... a friend. He can bring her.” Dean takes his phone from his pocket. Stepping out of Sam’s room, he dials Cas’s number.

The voice that growls “What now?!” is not what Dean was expecting.

Dean swallows hard. “Crowley...”

“Well, I see there’s nothing wrong with your hearing, even if your sense of timing is appalling.”

“Where's Cas?”

“He's resting.”

“Sam's hurt. Bad. They're…”  Dean swallows again, fighting the lingering nausea. “They offered to call a priest. He... _we_ need Mom.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Your mother is not going topside. The moment Lucifer’s spies found her, and they would, we'd have a bloody legion of them on our tails going after her and the sprog.”

“He's _dying_ Crowley!”

“And that's my problem, why? _Cas_ was dying when he got here last night. You two keep draining what little power he has!”

“I'm not asking you to send Cas, dammit!”

There is a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line. The demon snarls into the phone. “Fine! I’ll bring her myself, but I swear I will end her _and_ the brat she’s carrying before I let one of Lucifer’s minions near her. Capiche?”

“I get it.” The line goes dead, and Dean stares at the blank screen. “Goodbye, I guess…” He steps back into Sam’s room, relieved to see that the ‘helpful’ nurse has gone. He sits beside the bed and takes Sam’s hand in his own. “Looks like you were right. About Mom and Lucifer.” He lets out a breath. “Crowley just pretty much confirmed she’s the one carrying Lucifer’s bas…baby.”

~~**SSS** ~~

Crowley tosses Castiel’s cell phone onto the bedside table and snaps his fingers, materializing his clothes before he starts towards the door. Behind him, Castiel stirs on the bed. 

“Was I sleeping?” He sounds annoyed by the notion. “Who was on the phone?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, Kitten. Just ‘king business.’” Crowley replies. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“But…you were talking on my phone.” Castiel Blinks owlishly at Crowley.

“No, I wasn’t.” Crowley says. He holds the angel’s gaze steadily, willing him to accept the lie.

Castiel sighs. He turns onto his back, nestling in amongst the pillows and coverlet. “I had the strangest vision…dream. You had Michael’s Lance, but you broke it. Why would you destroy such a powerful object? Did you know that lance is probably the only weapon that could kill Lucifer?”

“It was a dream, Pigeon.” Crowley smiles. “That means you were resting properly. You should continue doing that. I’ve just got one or two small errands to run. Juliet will keep you company while I’m away.” Crowley heads for the door. “Just don’t let her up on my side of the bed. “She sheds.”

Before the angel can respond, Crowley steps into the corridor, headed for Mary Winchester’s chambers. His mother is there, of course. Those two women have become rather more tight with each other than Crowley would like. He shoots Rowena a withering glance, and then turns to Mary.

“It seems like your baby Moose has got himself into trouble…of the terminal kind,” he says.

“What?!” Mary struggles to her feet. “Sam? My Sam? Where is he? What happened? I... please I have to see him!”

She’s suddenly pale, and her blue eyes are large and frightened as she stares at him. Crowley makes a moue of distaste. Why must frightened blue eyes affect him so? He looks away.

“Fergus Roderick McLeod! What're you thinking of bursting in on the lady with news like that? Especially in her condition.”

“What?” Crowley growls. “I don't know any more than what Squirrel told me. What was I supposed to say?”

Rowena shakes her head and takes hold of Mary's arm. She pats the woman’s shoulder. “There now, dearie. Don't fret. We'll have you to your boy's side in a jiffy.” She links an arm with Mary, then turns to scowl at Crowley. “Honestly, who raised you?”

“Wolves,” Crowley snarks.

“Aye, and _boggin*_ ones at that! Not a stripe of nobility in you.” Rowena links her other arm with Crowley. “Well, get on with it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Boggin - Scottish slang for No good, or inferior  
> All comments will be given a loving home in my heart. Also, chocolate!


	20. Chapter 20

Dean sits by Sam's bed, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.  His eyes are closed and he might be dozing, though the tension in his shoulders gives the lie to that. He might appear to the casual observer to be praying. He's doing neither. He's focused on a memory from long ago. Another time when Sam lay in a hospital bed, pale and unresponsive as now.

Sam was younger then. In Kindergarten. Dean had just started fourth grade. Not that either of them attended school often. With Dad on the move, hunting, they got patchy schooling at best. They ought to have been in school the day the accident happened, but they were messing around at the back of their rented house. Dressed up as super heroes; they were playing on the roof of an old shed.

 Dean sees his younger self pale and trying to pretend he's not scared; sitting by Sam's bed and wishing that Dad was there.

 

 

 _Sam's shout and the sickening crunch of bone haunts him_. “ _I shoulda been watching him! I shoulda known the stupid idiot would try to follow me off that roof!’_

_But it hadn't been Dad who came to the hospital. John rarely interrupted a hunt for trouble with 'his boys.'_

_That time, it had been Missouri who came and signed the forms for the surgery to set Sam's broken arm._

_Dean had complained about her fussing and toughed it out, but he was secretly pleased she was there. Someone to take control. Someone to comfort Sam when he came out of the anesthesia, someone to comfort Dean, too, despite his grumbling that he was too old to be babied._

 

 

Dean stirs and lifts his head, studying Sam's still features with a frown. Sam hasn't moved or made so much as a whimper since he was brought in from the accident site.

"Hold on, Sammy. Mom's coming. Just ... hold on a little while longer."

“How touching. If I weren't a demon, I'd...puke.”

Dean twists around in his chair, and then stands up when he sees the demon, flanked by Mary and Rowena standing in the doorway. “About time!” He growls.

“Lovely to see you, too,” Crowley replies.

Breaking away from Crowley, Mary rushes to Sam’s bedside. “Sam? Sammy? Oh, my God, Dean, what happened?”

“The men of letters happened.” Dean looks at Crowley: “Can you do anything? If you can't then...”

The demon rolls his eyes. He moves to the foot of Sam’s bed and studies the machines keeping Sam breathing, the vitals scrolling across a monitor. He picks up Sam’s medical chart from the roll-away table and skims it. “Hmm. Impressive.” He turns to look at Dean. “What do you expect me to do? I’m a demon, not a doctor.”

“Right.” Dean turns away from Crowley, looking at his mother properly for the first time since she entered the room. He blinks. Mary’s pregnancy has advanced by months in the short time since Dean saw her last. He casts Crowley a glance, which the demon acknowledges with a non-committal shrug. Dean notices that Rowena has left the room.

Mary smooths dark hair back from Sam’s forehead, leaning over him. “Sam? Oh, baby boy, don’t do this to me. We’ve barely had a chance to know each other.”

“This is not demon business, Crowley.”

Dean spins on his heel to see Castiel, pale and obviously exhausted, leaning against the door frame.

Crowley scowls. “Can you not stay put for five minutes?”

Ignoring the demon, Castiel moves to the side of the bed and glances at Dean. “What happened?”

“Men of letters. Ran him off the road. Toni...that bitch shot him.” Dean has to pause to swallow past the nausea that returns every time he thinks of how he found Sam. Dying, with Toni Bevell standing between Dean and his brother. They say he nearly bled out. There's a bullet wound in his neck He had a pneumoth... something to do with his lungs. Cracked ribs...” Dean can’t continue. He bows his head, screws his eyes tight shut.

Mary leaves the bedside to stand next to Dean, laying a hand on his arm. “Castiel,” she says. “If you can help my son…”

Crowley Rounds on Mary. “ _Winchesters!_ All the same,” he snarls through gritted teeth. “LEECHES! Can't you see he's in no fit condition to…

“I can help,” Castiel interrupts. “I’m not at full strength, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Dammit, Kitten!” Crowley tries to get between the angel and Sam.

“Kitten?” Dean says.

Both Castiel and Crowley ignore him. Castiel leans over Sam and presses two fingers against the hunter’s temple. He closes his eyes and Dean sees the faint flash of blue that indicates grace flowing from the tips of Castiel’s fingers. He watches for any signs of change.

After a moment, Castiel sighs and stumbles backwards, saved from falling when Crowley steps closer and puts a steadying hand on the angel’s shoulder.

“Is he…” Dean falters. “He doesn’t look any different.”

“I don’t have the power to completely heal him,” Castiel says. “I did the best that I can. He will recover, now.”

Dean is about to speak when Mary lightly touches his shoulder. “It’ll take time, Dean,” she says.

Crowley glares at them both. “This is the last time,” he growls. “I swear. If I have to kill the lot of you myself, you _will_ let Castiel rest!”

Dean narrows his eyes at the protective tone of voice. He can’t help the faintest twinge of jealousy, seeing Castiel in the demon’s embrace. He shoots the angel a puzzled glance.

Castiel sighs. “You have Sam,” he says. There are volumes unspoken behind his words.

Dean nods. Maybe he shouldn’t dig too deep into his feelings for Cas. He looks away. “Yeah.”

Crowley smirks. “Well, since the moose is out of danger.” He holds out a hand to Mary. “Shall we? We’ve already been in the open too long.”

“What? No! I can’t leave Sam,” Mary says.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Dean says. “I’ve got Sammy. You…need to stay safe.”

Mary hesitates.

There is a cry from the corridor; Rowena’s voice, shrill with alarm. “Fergus!”

Crowley growls. “I _told_ you!” He grabs Mary’s arm, glaring a warning when Dean reflexively steps forward.

A nurse comes into the room, glancing at the small group of people around the bed. “There should only be two visitors at a time,” she says. “Immediate family only.”

“We were just leaving,” Crowley says.

“Actually…” the nurse’s eyes flash yellow. “You left it a little late.”

“Dagon,” Crowley growls.

“Worm,” the nurse replies. “I’ll take that.” She raises a hand and Mary is jerked out of Crowley’s grasp and propelled across the room. Dagon seizes her by her arm.

“Let me go!” Mary struggles.

With her free hand, Dagon slams Dean into a wall when he attempts to defend Mary.

Dean grunts in pain and frustration, finding himself pinned immobile against the unyielding cement wall. He struggles uselessly. “Let my mother go, bitch!”

Crowley slowly circles around Dagon. An angel blade slides into his fist from his coat sleeve. He sizes his opponent up, and looks for an opening to attack. “Sister, dearest. You don’t want to deprive _me_ of my toys...” He blinks and his own eyes flash yellow.

“The hell?” Dean stares in disbelief for a moment, and then looks at Castiel. “He’s a prince of hell? You knew about this?”

“I’ve always known, Dean.”

“You didn’t think to share that information?”

“I’m not a prince of hell. I’m the _king_ of hell.”

“Not for much longer,” Dagon smirks. “Do you really think you can keep Lucifer from his rightful place forever, Asmodeus?”

“Done fairly well so far.”

“Oh, please. You’ve held the throne only because none of us were interested enough to depose you.”

“Birthright, apathy. Either will serve when there’s a throne in the balance,” Crowley says. “Now, hand over the goods.” He makes a gesture towards Mary. Dagon sways but she doesn’t lose her grip on the woman’s arm. Crowley looks ruffled. He narrows his eyes and tries again without success.

“Oh, Asmodai…” Dagon chuckles. “Don’t you understand yet? Haven’t you realized that prolonged fraternization with _angels_ weakens you?”

“What? No!” Castiel sends Crowley a desperate look. “Is that true?”

Dean catches movement from the corner of his eye as Rowena slips into the room behind Crowley. The witch holds her hands cupped together as though carrying a small, fragile object. Dean is reminded, for a moment, of a girl collecting butterflies, but he knows better than to think the witch is up to anything near as innocent. He watches her, warily, trying to divide his attention between Rowena and the standoff between the two demons.

“I have to say, the bottom feeder façade you wear suits you,” Dagon says. “Hiding in filth, and consorting with…” her eyes track to Castiel, and then to Dean. “ _Vermin_ was ever your wont. Why Lucifer promoted you to our ranks always baffled me.”

“I had my uses,” Crowley says.

“Oh. Yes. I forgot… you were a minion of the _bed chamber_.” She shifts her stance as Crowley circles around her. She turns to Mary. “Do you really want to stay with _him?_ You know he’s planning to kill you, and dismember your unborn?”

Mary pales. She lays a protective hand over her swollen belly. “My baby?”

“Of course, your baby. Who else do you think could pose as great a threat to him and his pretense to the throne of hell?”

“If I go with you, will you leave my boys alone?”

“Mom, no!” Dean fights desperately against the demon’s hold over him. “Don’t go with her!”

“I’ve no interest in your mortal spawn,” Dagon says. “But this…” she passes a hand across Mary's pregnant belly. “This child…”

“Get your filthy hands off my mother! Cas! Do something!”

The angel shoots Dean a helpless look. “I haven’t the power…”

Dean’s attention shifts to Rowena as the witch steps further into the room. Her attention is focused on Dagon. He hopes that Rowena has something that can affect the prince. He watches as the witch flings her hands up, and out in a wide arc, scattering dark powder into the air.

“ _Tenebris!”_ Rowena cries.

The room is plunged into sudden and complete darkness, even the monitors by Sam’s bed flicker off. In the corridor, lights falter and die as the entire wing is plunged into blackout.

There is utter confusion for a moment. Dean, Crowley and Castiel all speak at once. The power holding Dean against the wall releases so suddenly that Dean stumbles, almost losing his footing.

It only lasts for a few seconds before the lights come back on, but when they do, Mary, Rowena, and Dagon have all vanished.

Crowley emits a roar of fury and rounds on Dean. “I warned you this would happen! You…you’ve _RUINED EVERYTHING!”_ Angel blade in hand, the demon lunges at Dean.

Unarmed, and faced with Crowley’s intense rage, Dean can only scramble backwards, searching desperately for anything he can use to defend himself. As Crowley raises his arm to strike, Dean throws his arms up defensively.

“Crowley, no!” Castiel is between them. His hand clamped tight around the demon’s upraised wrist. He locks eyes with Crowley. “No! We need to work together. Division is exactly what Lucifer would want.”

The demon snarls, but the angel blade disappears. He turns a red-eyed glare on Dean, but he stands down, straightening his overcoat and working to restore his usual collected aplomb.

“Is everything all right in here?” A nurse runs into the room, going to Sam’s bedside to check monitors. “We had a short blackout in this wing.” She studies readouts as she speaks. She frowns.

“Is he okay?” Dean sidles further away from Crowley as he speaks to the nurse.

The nurse glances at him, but most of her attention is on the monitors. “I’ll need to page Sam’s doctor,” she says. “But he does seem a little stronger.”

Dean slumps into the chair by Sam’s bed. He glances to where Castiel and Crowley had been a moment before. He’s not surprised that they’ve vanished. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispers. Relief mingles with worry for his mother. Dean is suddenly very tired.

“Perhaps you should go home,” the nurse says. “He’s out of danger now, and you need to rest.”

Dean nods an acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move. “I’ll go soon,” he says. “Just wanna sit with him a little longer.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

  

 _“You should shower, Dean. Y_ _ou stink. You’ve been wearing the same underwear for four days!”_  

 _“Two and two,” Dean replies. “You can_ _flip_ _them inside out, remember?”_ _At his brother’s incredulous look Dean continues. “You might like to go commando_ _._ _I don’t. I chafe._  

 _Sam wrinkles his nose in_ _distaste. “Dude, seriously._ _I think there’s a piece of siren_ _in your hair.”_  

 _Dean reaches up to feel about in his hair, picking out a gobbet of flesh which he examines for a moment before flicking it away, much to Sam's disgust. “We were out longer than we expected. And_ you _were the one who wanted to push it for home. What was I_ _gonna_ _do? Bathe in the goddamned car?”_  

 _“Just go shower, Dean.” Sam shakes his head. “And don’t use my shampoo. Last time you left ghoul guts all over t_ _he bottle!”_  

 

Dean wakes with a start. He passes a hand across his mouth, hoping that he wasn’t drooling in his sleep. His eyes track to the silent, unconscious form of his brother lying in the hospital bed. Sam is off the ventilator. The doctors weaned him from it earlier that morning. He is holding his own, but still comatose. 

“C’mon, babe,” Dean whispers. “We’ve done everything we can for you.” 

“Well, not quite _everything.”_ A familiar voice replies from behind him. Dean looks over his shoulder to find Gabriel leaning casually against the doorpost. “You could’ve called _me_ ,” the archangel says. 

“Gabriel!” Dean gets to his feet. “I…didn’t think.” 

“ _You_ never do.” Gabriel saunters into the room.  He inclines his head towards Sam. “That’s Mega-Brain’s job. Castiel called me.” 

“Can you help?” 

“Of course, I _can_ help,” Gabriel replies. “The question you need to ask, is _will_ I?” 

“I kind of figured you wouldn’t be here, otherwise,” Dean says. 

“Yeah, assumption tends to be your go to.” Gabriel walks over to stand by Sam’s bed. “This is for him, you understand, not you.” He studies Sam for a moment and then nods. “Piece of candy.” With a snap of his fingers, the archangel turns to Dean. “It’s probably best if I’m not here when he wakes up. You can tell him whatever you want.” 

“I’ll tell him the truth,” Dean says. He inclines his head to the archangel. “Thank you.” 

For the barest flicker of a moment, Gabriel looks astonished. He quickly shakes it off. "Sam could do _so_ much better," he says. With that, he is gone. 

Dean turns to the bed as his brother emits a faint groan. "Sam?" He grabs Sam's hand. "Sammy?" 

"D-Dean?" Sam rasps. His eyes are open and he's looking around the room in obvious confusion. "What...where?" 

"Hey, don't try to talk. Your throat's probably gonna be sore." Dean slips into the chair beside Sam's bed. "You're in the hospital," he says.  

Sam closes his eyes for a moment, and then opens them. One hand reaches for his throat, but encounters bandages instead of skin. "...happened?" 

"You were shot. Wrecked your car. You got busted up some," Dean replies. "Cas healed you a little, but he didn't have a lot of mojo to spare." 

A cough rattles in Sam's chest, he passes his tongue across chapped lips. 

"Are you thirsty? The nurse left some ice, said you could try sucking it if you woke up." As he speaks, Dean reaches for the cup by the bed, offering it to Sam. 

Sam accepts the cup and takes a mouthful of the small ice chips. He is quiet while they melt in his mouth. His free hand worries at the swathes of gauze at his throat, peeling the surgical tape away. "Want to go home," he says after a moment.  

"Yeah, you and me both," Dean replies. "You feel up to walking?" Even as Dean speaks, Sam is sitting up in the bed, pushing the bedclothes aside, pulling the IV from his arm. 

Within moments they're making their way as quietly as possible towards a back exit.  

Once in the car, Dean fills Sam in on the entire story. Toni Bevell, the men of letters, Sam nearly bleeding out, Dean's inability to help him. Then, Gabriel's last minute intervention.

"So, Toni's dead?" Sam says when the story's done. He's still hoarse. "How? Did you..." 

"Cops," Dean says. "Shot her when she had a gun pointed at me. I guess you and me both owe our lives to the Blue Hill Sheriff's Department." 

Sam nods. They're both quiet for a time. 

"So, Gabriel healed me..." Sam says into the silence. 

"Yeah." Dean huffs a breath. "I dunno why I didn’t think to call him." 

"Why would you?" Sam looks over at him. "He's never been top of your go to list." 

Dean shrugs. "Still, it’s a no brainer. We needed an angel at full power and he's the only one we know. I guess he was right." 

"Right? About what?" 

"He said that I never think. That, that's your job." Dean chuckles. "He called you Mega-Brain." 

A soft snort of laughter greets that. "Sounds like he's the same Gabriel we've always known." 

"He never changes." 

Sam lets out a breath. "I'm tired," he murmurs. 

"Yeah, you've been through a lot. Why don't you get some shuteye? I'll wake you when we stop to eat." Dean glances over at his brother, smiling a little when Sam hunches down against the window and closes his eyes. Turning back to the road, Dean lets out a long, slow breath that carries a prayer of thanks to Gabriel. 

 

 ~~ **S S S**~~  

 

Dean shepherds Sam into the bunker. Their first time home since the morning Sam was shot. He guides Sam to a chair, ignoring his brother's protests that he's fine. Once Sam is settled grudgingly in a lounge chair, Dean hunkers down in front of him.  "Do you need anything? Coffee? Are you hungry?" 

"Seriously, I'm fine. We only stopped for lunch half an hour ago." Sam chuckles as he speaks. "You're worse than a mother hen." 

Dean lets out a breath. "I nearly lost you, Sammy. I think I'm entitled to fuss for at least one day." 

Sam rolls his eyes, but says nothing. 

"I hafta say," Dean continues, glancing around. "I'm glad Mick sent his goons over to' _properly'_   repair the warding. That wasn't a job I was looking forward to. Wish he didn't have to be a dick about it though." 

"Those guys are dicks about everything," Sam replies. 

"Still, they helped with the hospital and the bunker." Dean meets Sam's eyes. "Of course, that wasn't just from the kindness of their hearts. They had terms." 

Sam raises an eyebrow. "What'd they want?" 

"Us. You, me, and Mom to work with them. Help to get other hunters onside." 

"I'm assuming they don't know about Mom's..." 

"No. They don't need to know, either," Dean is quick to assert. 

"No arguments from me," Sam says. He presses his lips together thoughtfully. "What do we tell them? About not knowing where Mom is?" 

"Exactly that. They don't have to know more than that she's MIA." 

Sam nods. He meets and holds Dean's gaze. "Are we okay?" 

Dean returns his brother's steady gaze. "Well, that's up to you, Babe." He shakes his head. "I acted like an ass and I don't deserve..." 

"Wait." Sam puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's not all on you. I contributed my share of douchery. I mean... I was _dead_ , Dean. I had no right, then, or now to dictate who you chose to be with." 

"But..." 

"No buts. I told you when I was looking down the barrel, you should find someone and settle down. That you should try to have some kind of apple pie life. I didn't make any stipulations." 

Dean smiles a little. "Okay, we're both a bag of dicks." 

A soft chuckle greets his observation. "It's okay, Dean. We're okay." 

Dean leans in, pulls his brother into a lingering kiss. 

"Oh, how _very_ touching." 

The brothers jerk apart to face Crowley standing beside Sam's chair. 

"How the hell did _you_ get in here?!" Dean demands. He gets to his feet, taking a protective stance. 

Crowley raises his eyes to the ceiling, apparently studying the invisible wards. "Please. King of Hell? I think I've been around long enough to know one or two tricks with which the Men of Letters aren't conversant." He looks at Sam. "You're looking much better, Moose. Don't let Squirrel here tire you out too much. We still have the mothers' club and my bitch of a sister to find. Speaking of which," he turns to Dean. "Any leads?" 

"Nothing," Dean replies. 

"Marvellous!" The demon scowls. "So let's say, oh, 9AM sharp tomorrow we get together and formulate some kind of BLOODY PLAN once you two get done playing hide the sausage?!" Crowley vanishes as silently as he arrived. 

"Seriously, one of these days..." Dean growls. He turns to Sam. "You ought to get some rest. Even with angel mojo, you still look beat." 

"Yeah," Sam says. "I could use a shower first. Want to join me?" 


	22. Chapter 22

Dean drops his duffel to the floor by the bedroom door. They’ve just returned from the ‘werewolf fiasco’ as he’s dubbed it. Hunting with Mick Davies, who had turned out, in Claire’s words, to be ‘totally lame.’ Good call, Dean thinks. Then again, Claire always was smart.

“I thought the Brits were supposed to be good hunters,” he says. “I mean, that Ketch guy. He’s okay. Knows his way around a machete.”

“You and he should get along great, then.” Sam heads for the shower.

For a moment, Dean considers following him and asking what the hell that’s supposed to mean. He decides he’s too tired to deal and pours a drink instead.

 

~~**C  C  C** ~~

 

“Do you know you actually mewl like a kitten during sex, Kitten?” Crowley observes the angel over the rim of his whiskey glass, smirks when the telltale blush appears on Castiel’s cheeks. An angel who can blush, who would have imagined. “It really is quite the turn on. I wager your siblings would love to be as talented as you are in the bedroom.”

“I believe that Gabriel is... uh most… um that is, he _says_ that he is extremely talented.”

“Ah. Yes, he's been on earth for much longer than all of you. Plenty of time to learn all about carnal pleasures. Speaking of which; I think I cock blocked Moose and Squirrel earlier. The demon smirks. “I do enjoy messing with those two.”

Castiel frowns at him. “They need some time, Crowley.”

“Oh, don't go all match maker on me... I left them after I told them we would have to get together, the four of us, to find my bitch sister and the brood mares. Besides, Moose should be resting, not shagging.”

“We will find them. Angels are seeking the Nephilim too.”

“I still think Juliet would be able to sniff out mama Winchester.”

“You cannot send a hellhound after Mary! Hellhounds _eat_ their targets.”

“She excelled at hunting down Squirrel.”

Castiel positively scowls. “My point.”

It’s Crowley’s turn to scowl. “Time is ticking. That devil spawn is developing fast. If we don’t find it soon, we’ll all be in a world of pain. Do you think the kid’ll sit by idly playing with Lego while it knows we’ve got daddy dearest locked up down here?”

“We will _find_ it! But Mary Winchester must not be harmed.”

Crowley snorts his contempt. “You know she doesn’t even want to be down here! She wants to go back to heaven where those two nightmare sons of hers are babies and they’re all one big happy family. We’d be doing her a favor.”

“I am aware.” Castiel rasps. “Her predicament is yet another example of my family’s selfishness.”

“But of course, we leave her alone because…” Crowley adopts a fair imitation of Castiel’s voice and growls, “Dean won't like it if she goes back.”

“Dean... should know by now that life is not all about him,” Castiel replies.

Crowley stares at him, thunderstruck. “That’s not like you, Kitten.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Those boys generally can't put a foot wrong with you. What's going on?”

The angel sighs, shrugs. He meets Crowley’s gaze. “Sam and Dean are human and subject to the same flaws and faults of all humans. It has taken me time to understand that. They are not always right. Their desires are not always right. They’re not even always _good_. In fact, they are seldom good.”

“Well, this is new.” Crowley eyes his lover quizzically.  “Still, we need to work with them, so play nice. Okay, Kitten?”

“Why would I not play nice?” Castiel raises an eyebrow.  “The fact that I received a 'reality check' doesn't change that.”

Crowley wonders when Castiel will come to understand that the whole air quotes with the fingers thing is so 1980s, but he says nothing. He turns to pour himself another drink. “Shall I pour one for you?”

“Yes.”

~~**C  C  C** ~~

 

**Following Day: Early Hours**

 

Dean kisses his sleeping brother and slips out of bed, headed for the kitchen. He takes his phone from the library table and opens the text app.

_Mom, it's Dean. Are you okay? Where are you? Text me, call me! We just wanna know you're all right_

He watches the screen for a reply that doesn’t come. Sighing, he puts the phone down and walks into the kitchen to make coffee.

“Dean? It’s 2am.” Sam’s voice, rough with sleep, comes from the kitchen doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean smiles a little. “Couldn’t sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You won’t improve matters by drinking coffee. Especially the way you make it.” Sam sits at the kitchen table. “What’s up?”

Dean pours coffee into a mug and joins Sam at the table. “I dunno. Thinking about Claire, and Garth, and…” he shrugs and takes a mouthful of coffee. “D’you think we should let Garth know we found a possible cure?”

“Good question.” Sam shakes his head. “We probably should mention it. But maybe Garth wouldn’t want to try it anyway. He seems good, you know?”

Dean nods. He takes another mouthful of coffee. “For all their fancy technology and that field office, the Brits haven’t been all that much help.”

“Aside from the cure, you mean. And killing the alpha vampire.”

“Well, yeah, that’s something, I guess. But you notice we’re doing a lot of hunting, killing things they want dealt with, and they haven’t got one lead on Mom yet? I mean, I thought they were…”

“‘…Supposed to be good at this stuff,’” Sam ends the sentence for him. “You keep saying that.”

“Well…”

“You’re right,” Sam says. “But we haven’t really got much either. Crowley and Cas are drawing blanks, hell, even heaven is striking out on this one.”

“At least they’re _trying.”_ Dean huffs out a breath. “I just wish Mom…” He trails off as his phone pings from the library. Dean scrambles to his feet and hurries to pick up the phone. There is a text from an unknown number, but Dean knows who it’s from as soon as he opens it.

_I’m okay, Dean. Please don’t worry about me. M._

“Sam!” Dean starts towards the kitchen, but his brother meets him half way across the library. He hands the phone to Sam. “It’s from Mom. Any way you can track the number?”

“As long as she left the phone turned on, yeah.” Sam’s already sitting in front of his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Give me a minute…”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Implied Crocifer in this chapter. I couldn't help it, it's practically canon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to all my readers for patiently waiting while I moved house and got settled before I could post another chapter. Not like you had a lot of choice, right? I hope you're still with me!

Crowley hums to himself as he heads for the room where he’s imprisoned Lucifer. The day has started out with the best possible news he could have heard. Well short of hearing of his mother’s agonizing demise, perhaps. The news is not quite _that_ good, but it’s good enough. He lets himself into Lucifer’s cell and allows himself a moment to smirk at the fallen one before he speaks.

“Good morning…evening…whatever. You choose. Not like it matters down here, anyway.”

Lucifer regards him coolly for a long moment without speaking. He tips his head to one side, steeples his fingers under his chin the best he can with the impediment of his shackles. “Hm. Something’s up,” he says at last. “You hardly ever come to taunt me anymore. Ergo, something has gone your way for a change.” The chains and cuffs clink as he makes an encouraging gesture. “Share! Daddy’s listening.”

Crowley’s expression turns sour for an instant, but he recovers quickly. “How does it feel, _daddy_? All your princes. Gone. Azazel, Ramiel…now Dagon, too? Oh yes. She’s dead. Try calling her.” He smirks at Lucifer’s raised eyebrow. “Yes, I knew about your little telepathic _tête-a- têtes._ Take your time. I’ll wait.”

Lucifer leans back in his chair, all but lounging as he looks up at Crowley. “I always knew you’d come good. Could feel it in my bones. You _were_ one of my best little soldiers.”

Crowley lets that barb pass. “Oh, and your brat and its incubator? On the lam with an angel.” He chuckles. “You knocked up the wrong bitch, Luci. A Winchester, to spawn the devil’s seed? _Anyone_ could have told you that wouldn’t work! Did you learn nothing from Sam? The Wincehsters will fall out on the side of free will every time. So, little Luci-Chester’s gone off on a mission to SAVE THE BLOODY WORLD!”

“I gave it my best shot.” Lucifer shrugs. “Not like I _intended_ to beget…but once it was done? Seemed like a good plan. Why haven’t you already put down the Winchesters? You’re getting soft, Asmodeus…you never cared about Dad’s little toys before.” Lucifer narrows his eyes and grins incredulously. “You’re _afraid_ of them!”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Crowley snorts. “Look at you! You don’t deserve to rule hell anymore. You’re a laughing stock. Every demon, here and topside, speaks your name with a sneer. Asmodeus is back. _I’m_ back!” Crowley seizes a handful of Lucifer’s hair, hurling him from the chair onto his knees. “And _you_ grovel when I’m speaking to you!”

“Yes dear, anything you say, dear.” Lucifer looks up at Crowley with his customary smirk.

“Oh, you can brazen it out, if that’s how you like to play it. But you’re royally screwed, my love. Right in the jaxie.” He paces around the kneeling archangel. “Every promise you made to me and then broke. Every kiss you bestowed and then wiped your lips?” Another snort. “I used to let it hurt me. Then I got sick of being the victim. I got angry instead.” Crowley hunkers down in front of Lucifer. “And oh, how it has paid off.”

“There he is,” Lucifer purrs. “Like I said. You were always my favorite. So full of fight and spunk.” He winks. “Imagine, Asmodai…the things we could achieve together. Both of us at full strength.”

“Spare me the tempter’s spiel, Luci, I’m not buying. What are you, anyway? Just a petulant angel with daddy issues. Me? I’m what you made me to be. With one slight change. I’m not a prince of hell. I’m the _king you’ll never be!”_

“Some daddy issues of your own, hm? Like you said, I made you. Is that why my darling boy is screwing a third-tier angel?”

“Seraph. You're out of the loop.”

Lucifer chuckles. “Ahhh. He got a promotion,” he coos.

Crowley shrugs. “He had his uses.” The demon holds Lucifer's gaze. “That's something I learned from you. How to _use_.”

“Dear little Castiel, always thinking always wondering...never quite fit in anywhere. Hardly the epitome of a being of Heavenly fire.”

“He and I are alike in that. Never could be the mindless automatons our creators wanted.”

Lucifer perks up. “Ah! So that's it! The whole love match is all...what is it that orange faced Muppet in the Whitehouse keeps saying? _Fake news_! Now that's what I'm talking about!” Lucifer beams. “Asmo! I’m so proud, my heart could burst. I _knew_ you were just using that ridiculous wimp.”

Crowley shrugs. “Naturally.” He almost prays that Castiel can’t see or hear him, but realizes that would defeat the purpose.

“You like things a little more edgy, don't you pup?”

“I’m not your pup. _You’re the one wearing the collar.”_

“About that. I seem to remember yours had some nice studs. I kinda like rhinestone myself. This is a tad plain.”

“It's better than you deserve.” Crowley leans in and pats Lucifer on the top of his head. “So, as I was saying. Now that you’re up to speed…” He stands. “Oh, and don’t bother calling for any of your minions. Firstly, there are none left, and secondly? I no longer have the need to listen in on your telepathic conversations with Dagon, so…I disconnected your service. Night-er-morning. _Pup!”_

Lucifer sighs. “Spoil sport.”

Crowley walks out, humming to himself.

Lucifer watches the prince with a baleful eye until he has left and the door is closed behind him. He slowly gets to his feet and shuffles back to his chair. He settles himself as comfortably as he can on the hard, wooden seat and leans back, closing his eyes. He sings, softly.

“Hush little baby, you’ll get your wish, daddy’s gonna serve you Crowley’s balls in a dish.”

 

vvv

 

 

 

Dean wanders into the library holding his phone in one hand, staring at it in hurt disbelief. He slumps into a chair and sets the phone on the table before dropping his head into his hands.

Sam glances at him. “What’s up?”

Dean looks up and meets Sam's eyes. He pushes the phone across the table. “Read that.”

> **_  Text From Mom: _ **
> 
> _Dean, I'm sorry. I know you've been calling, looking for me. I know you're worried and  
> _ _I should have called. I just needed to take some time to think. I'm not with Dagon anymore._  
>  _In fact, she's dead. I won't go into what, or how, nor insult you with excuses or reasons._  
>   
>  _I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come back._  
>  _Not that that was my choice in any case..._  
>  _But my father used to say that dead things_  
>  _Should stay dead. He was right, Dean._  
>  _I should have stayed dead. I've only been a liability and_  
>  _Well, we all know the mess that I'm in._  
>  _My baby is good, Dean. I can sense it. He's like you, and Sammy._  
>  _He's a Winchester, but..._  
>  _He doesn't belong either._ ****  
>   
> I contacted your friend, Castiel. He knows of a place  
>  where we can be safe. I'm going away. Far away.  
> It's a place where my son can be born, and I will raise him right.  
> I love you, Dean. Please give my love to Sam and tell him...  
>   
> Tell him I'm sorry. For everything.  
> Goodbye.  
> MW  
>   
> 

Sam hands the phone back to his brother. "Does that mean she thinks _we_ should have stayed dead?"

“I...” Dean closes his eyes. “I don’t know what she means.”

“So. You've heard.” Crowley is suddenly standing by the library table.  “Right. Up and at ‘em boys.”

Dean scowls at the demon. “You knew about this?”

Crowley heaves a deep, long suffering sigh. “I know about everything! So.”  He snaps his fingers. “Are we moping, or are we going after them?”

“You don't know where they are either Crowley,” Sam says. “And have you ever thought maybe you should knock before you barge in here? We could be doing anything! We c—I mean we could be entertaining guests. Guests from the Men of Letters.”

“I knew you weren't boning your brother, or vice versa, Moose, and the Men of Letters don't go anywhere that _I_ don't know about. Which reminds me. You might want to call pest control...”

“What?”

Crowley makes a shushing gesture and reaches under the library table to pry loose the tiny listening device. He holds it up for the brothers to see before crushing it between his fingers. “Can't stand bugs!”

“Bastards,” Sam growls.

“Now. What leads have you got?” Crowley looks from Dean to Sam.

“Uh…” Sam shuffles his feet. “Mom sent Dean a text saying she’s fine and safe and Cas is with her. We have nothing else.”

“Marvelous!” Crowley raises his eyes to the ceiling. “So…you have a text. Can’t you do that…computer thing? Track her down? Do I have to do _all_ the thinking for you two?”

“We tried that,” Dean says. “She doesn’t know a lot about new technology, but she’s learned to turn off her phone. And before you ask? We’ve tried calling _and praying_ to Cas. He doesn’t respond.”

“I _know_ that! So, come on, there must be something you can…” The demon trails off as Sam’s phone rings.

Sam fishes the phone from his pocket and frowns at the caller ID. “It’s Mick Davies.”

“Answer it,” Crowley growls.

Sam shoots the demon a look but thumbs the answer button and puts the phone on speaker.  “Mick?”

_“Guess again.”_

Both brothers and Crowley speak at the same time. “Ketch!”

_“Bravo! You’ve more brains than I’d given you credit for. I won’t mince words, none of us has time for that. We have your mother, and your angel…”_

What?!” Dean comes to his feet. “How the hell…”

_“Because we’re good at what we do. Now, please listen. We’ve no interest in the angel, and your mother is…dispensable. Our only concern is the child. We’re willing to parley. I’ll text you the location. Don’t come armed if you value their lives.”_

“Wait!” Sam cuts in. “Why’re you calling on Mick’s phone? Where is he?”

_“Would you have answered, if I called on mine? As for Mick…well, you know the nature of this game. He’s no longer with us, I’m afraid. You’re running out of time. Mary is almost in labor as we speak. Once the child is born, there’s really no reason for us to keep either of the others alive, now is there? I’d suggest you don’t dally.”_

Sam looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes as the line goes dead.

Dean is already heading for the garage, car keys in hand. “C’mon,” he says as Sam’s phone pings with Ketch’s coordinates. “You heard him!”


	24. Chapter 24

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Dean peers through the windshield at the collection of low, boxlike buildings.

“These are the coordinates Ketch sent,” Sam replies.

“It looks like a pile of old shipping containers.”

“Very heavily warded shipping containers,” Crowley puts in. “Enochian, magic…” The demon hums and tips his head to one side. “A few things _I’ve_ never encountered before.”

“Are you saying that you can’t get in?” Sam turns to look over his shoulder at Crowley.

“Pfft! Please.” Crowley vanishes. An instant later, he reappears. “Alright, so I _can’t_ get in,” he grumbles. “No doubt they’ll _let_ you two lunkheads in. You’re invited, after all.”

Dean glowers at the demon’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Seriously, Crowley…”

“Dean!” Sam interrupts. “We don’t have time for a pissing match.”

“You’ll have to break the warding,” Crowley says.

“Just how the hell do you suggest we do that?” Dean twists around in his seat, fixing the demon with a glare. “They use that invisible ink, or whatever. How are we supposed to break sigils we can’t even see?”

“On that point.” Crowley produces several hex bags from inside his coat. “These should do the trick. Toss one or two of them around. I’ll do the rest.”

Sam takes the hex bags from the demon and gets out of the car. Dean joins him and they walk towards the makeshift bunker. Sam frowns when his phone rings, pulling it from his pocket he glances at the screen and then answers. “Crowley?”

“ _Keep the connection open, Moose. I need some means of knowing when you’ve deployed the bags.”_

Dean rolls his eyes and the brothers make their way to the entrance of the bunker.

The door opens before they can knock. Arthur Ketch, armed with a pistol waits inside. “Good evening, gentlemen. You certainly made good time.” He checks behind them. “No demon. Good thinking.” He gestures with the gun. “Weapons, if you please.”

Sam reluctantly hands over the pistol he had tucked in the back of his jeans. Dean gives Ketch the Glock with the pearl handle he habitually carries.

“Knives, as well.” Ketch indicates their legs with his eyes.

Dean huffs an impatient sigh and bends to retrieve the knife from the strap around his calf.

“I don’t have any, Sam says.” He pulls the cuffs of his jeans up as proof. He holds his breath when Ketch gestures another man forward. Sam is perfunctorily frisked. He only allows himself to breathe again when the hex bags completely escape the guy’s notice. He hides a smirk. That’s the guy he’ll take down first. After all, a dude who not only misses hex bags, but fails to confiscate phones? Sam shoots his brother a speaking glance.

Dean grins as Ketch pats him down. “What, no cavity search?”

“Given your proclivity for such activities, no. You’d enjoy it far too much, and this is not a pleasure jaunt.” Ketch steps back, gestures with the gun for them to walk ahead of him.

 

~~**c c c** ~~

 

Mary paces the confines of the small room they have put her in. It contains a raised surgical bed, a cabinet filled with bottles and jars with labels she can’t decipher; a large two-way glass panel. She has no doubt that she is being watched. Mary ignores the mirror. Pounding on it and yelling for whoever was on the other side to come and face her was futile anyway.

Wincing, Mary falters and lays a hand over her swollen belly. The baby stirs restlessly under her touch. He has kicked and rolled incessantly since Mary and Castiel were apprehended by the Men of Letters. Mary closes her eyes, draws a deep shuddering breath. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmurs. “We’ll find a way out of this.”

The response is a kick that doubles her over, gasping in pain.

 

~~**c c c** ~~

He has failed, yet again. Castiel slumps in the corner of his cell, eyes closed, face half turned into the wall. He’s bruised, bleeding. A cut above his right eye caused by the knuckle dusters Arthur Ketch favors, trickles blood across his temple and down his cheek.

It had all seemed so clear, when Mary contacted him. The Nephilim must survive. Castiel knew it from the moment he laid a hand on Mary Winchester’s belly. The child is not evil. He is of course, angelic, but his essence feels pure, innocent, like any unborn.

More than that; there’s the vision Castiel received when he connected with the child. Heaven restored to its former order and glory. Earth, safe. Paradise reclaimed. Castiel wonders if this child could be the second coming humans hope for.

But…

They were captured. Castiel has failed. The Men of Letters will take the child, corrupt him. All will be lost. Unless…

Castiel bows his head.

He prays.

~~**c c c** ~~

 

Crowley paces impatiently beside the impala, cell phone in hand. He rolls his eyes at the seemingly banal conversation between Ketch and Sam coming over the speaker. “Get on with it, Moose! You’re not in there to compliment them on the bloody décor!”

A movement behind him has the demon freeze in his tracks. He glances over his shoulder. “Bollocks!”

“Don’t move.” The man, dressed in a dark suit trains a pistol that looks suspiciously like the Colt on Crowley.

“Not going anywhere.” Crowley extends his hands out to the sides, still grasping the phone. “Don’t I know you?”

“That’s rather irrelevant just now. Drop the phone.”

Crowley drops the phone. He winces when the man cocks the pistol. “Now, let’s not be hasty. We can talk this out, come to some arrangement. I’ll leave. Not like I’m all that invested here. Just came along for the ride.”

“We’re aware of your…attachment to the angel.”

Crowley makes a disbelieving face. “Attachment? Hardly what I’d call it. More an… arrangement.” He smiles disarmingly. “You can do what you want with Castiel. In fact, if you like, I’ll give you some pointers. Angels do beg so prettily when you apply the right stimulus.”

The man scoffs, waves the pistol. “I think you’d better come with me.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Really?” Another avuncular smile. “ _I_ think, I’d rather see _you_ in hell!” He lifts a hand, twists it in the air.

The man’s head twists on his shoulders to an unnatural degree. There’s a satisfying crunch of separating vertebrae. He’s dead before he hits the ground. Crowley retrieves the Colt, pockets it. He picks up his phone. Unmistakable sounds of a fight come over the speaker. Crowley has a momentary pang of remorse.

"Sorry, lads." 

Crowley decides to wager on Sam having dropped the hex bags. He begins to chant in a foreign tongue.


	25. Chapter 25

 

The fight breaks out so suddenly, that Sam is taken unawares, slammed against a wall by a solid shove from Ketch who follows up with a punch in the stomach, knocking the wind right out of Sam. He’s dazed, but not done. Sam throws his weight, and considerable height advantage into action, knocking Ketch off balance, and lands a savage punch to the Brit’s jaw. While the man is still reeling, Sam quickly looks for Dean.

His brother’s holding out pretty well against Ketch’s henchman. Sam grins, ducks a chair swung in his direction and grabs for Ketch’s arm. He brings a knee up against Ketch’s elbow. A crunch of bone wrings an enraged yell of pain from the man. Sam follows up with a downward blow to the Brit’s shoulder. The joint subluxated, Ketch drops to his knees, retching.

Sam scoops up the gun Ketch dropped and takes aim at the man Dean is grappling with. There’s no clear shot. He steps in close, pistol whips the man instead, watches him crumple.

Dean nods his thanks. He turns to Ketch. “Where’s our mom?”

“Dead, for all I care,” Ketch spits. He nurses his shattered arm and shoulder. “I warned you not to come here armed. Coming accompanied by a demon…you may as well have brought a nuclear warhead.”

 “Why thank you, Arthur.” Crowley steps into the room. “Nice to get some respect for a change.” He steps past Sam and Dean and bends over Ketch. “I’d sincerely hope that Mary Winchester, nor the angel are dead, if I were you. In fact, if there’s so much as a scratch on Castiel…”

“Yes, yes. I know, you’ll gut me or something equally as elegant.” Ketch waves a dismissive hand.

Crowley straightens, turns to Sam and Dean. “Leave him to me. Go find your mother and Cas…there’s probably not much time before…” He’s cut off by the sudden clamor of a klaxon. “Somebody raises the alarm.”

The brothers exchange a glance and then head out of the room.

 

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

 

Gasping in pain, Mary grips the side of the surgical bed for support. “No, no. Not here, not yet.” One hand clutches convulsively at her lower back as the familiar pangs of childbirth grip her. She clenches her eyes closed, groaning as a powerful contraction rolls over her. “Baby…baby hold on. It’s not safe for you here!” She pants, goes still as the unmistakable pops of gunfire ring out in the corridor outside her room. Somewhere, faintly, a klaxon blares an alarm through the Men of Letters complex. “Guuuuh!” Mary drops to her knees.

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

Castiel startles when the klaxon rings out. It’s nowhere near his location, but his acute hearing picks it up as though it were right outside his door. He stirs, gets to his feet. Could the Winchesters have found this place? How could that happen so quickly? He steps to the center of the room, reaches out with every angelic sense he can muster. “DEAN? SAM?!” He listens, head cocked to one side. “CROWLEY!”

Pausing to listen again, Castiel can discern the sounds of gunfire. Galvanized into action he attacks the door of his cell, pounding with his fists, kicking at the solid metal paneling as he screams for Sam, Dean, anyone to open the door. He is useless locked away here, but only let him loose and he can fight. He vaguely sensed a shift in the magical warding a while ago, but until now had not connected it with the possibility of rescue. He flings himself against the door. “Let me out!”

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

 _How many damn Men of Letters are there?_ Dean rounds another corner in the rabbits’ warren of corridors, Glock in hand, cocked and at the ready. He has shot three already, wounded two, possibly killed the third. _They started shooting first,_ he reasons. He ducks into a recess as a woman rounds a corner, heading straight for him. Dean dislikes fighting with women. For one, they fight dirty. For another, unless a woman gives him a _very_ good reason, Dean won’t strike, or shoot at her. _Then again, there are some women…_ A flash of Toni Bevell crosses his mind.

The woman draws level with him. She’s mature. Maybe in her sixties. Dressed in a tweed suit and pearls, her hair schooled into a perfect chignon.

Dean shrinks back against the wall, primed to fight, but hoping he won’t have to. He holds his breath.

A sudden, piercing scream of anguish wipes all thought of caution from Dean’s mind. The voice is unmistakable, even rent with agony as it is. It’s Mary.  Dean starts forward. “Mom?!”

He collides with the woman who stops in her tracks at his voice. She glowers at him. “Dean Winchester,” she says in cool, clipped tones. “Finally, we meet.”

Dean trains his gun on her. “Yeah, well, I’d love t’shoot the breeze, but I’m in kind of a hurry. “Where’s my mother?”

“Safe. For now.”

“Yeah? Coulda fooled me. That…” Dean winces as another pained cry cuts through the air. “Doesn’t sound safe to me.” He loses patience as the woman starts to reply. He breaks his personal code and hits her on the head with the butt of his pistol. The woman stares at himin shocked outrage for a full two seconds before she crumples. Somehow, it strikes Dean as funny. He’s almost chuckling as he follows the sound of another cry to the source. A heavy metal door stands between himself and Mary. Dean throws himself against it.

“Mom! Mom, it’s me, Dean.” He spots the panel beside the door. One of those fancy security things that you need a swipe card to unlock. Dean mutters a curse and blows it apart with a well-placed shot. The door gives with a metallic thunk. Dean kicks it for good measure and sidles into the room, gun raised.

Mary lies on the hard cement floor panting hard and hugging her pregnant belly. Her face is pale, streaked with tears. She rolls onto her side, facing Dean. A long, pained moan breaks from her chapped lips. “Dean?”

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Dean goes to his knees beside her. “Can you walk?”

“No. The…Dean, the baby. It’s coming.”

“I figured. C’mon, we gotta get you someplace safe.” Dean tries to help Mary up, gets her to a sitting position before she cries out and pushes him away.

“Dean! Get out. Get your brother and get out of here! Leave me!”

Dean recalls another time he was told to take Sam and get out. “No. Come on, Mom. You can do this, I got you.”

“Get out, Dean!” Mary cries. “I need you to go!”

Shaking his head, Dean tucks his gun into the back of his jeans and lifts Mary in his arms. “Not happening.” He carries her into the corridor, doing his best to avoid her flailing fists. “Last time I took Sammy and got out, you died. We lost Dad that night, too…except he kept walking around.”

Mary stills. “It’s true? What they told me? Your father…”

“Not exactly the time for family history hour.” Dean checks around a corner that the coast is clear and walks on.

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

"I sincerely wish I had more time to spend on this.” Crowley turns an angel blade in his hand as he looms over Ketch. “Still. I’ve got a feeling we’ll meet again. In hell. Right in my own cozy little torture chamber.” He smiles apologetically as he drives the blade into the man’s chest. “Terribly sorry, Arthur. You deserve…” he twists the blade. “So…” twisting it the other way. “Much more.”

Crowley watches as Ketch slumps to the floor to lie twitching in a pool of his own blood. He cocks his head to one side, listening to something over the racket of gun-fire and klaxons. He smiles. “Well, he’s alive, if the racket he’s making is anything to go by…” The king of hell vanishes, reappearing a moment later outside a door which appears to have a miniature tornado happening on the other side.

The door vibrates and booms with the force of the assault from the inside. Castiel’s voice, muffled a little by the metal yells. “Let me out!”

“I’m coming, keep your feathers on.”

Crowley studies the security panel for a moment and then jams the bloodied tip of his angel blade into it, setting off a shower of sparks. He puts a hand against the door and gives a gentle push.

“You know, you’re wasting time and energy screaming and pounding on the door. I broke the warding ten minutes ago. You _have_ access to your powers.”

“Crowley!” The angel stares at him, wide eyed.

Crowley glares back in silence for a long moment. “Don’t _Crowley_ me as if you’re glad to see me!

Castiel blinks. “I…”

“Where the hell have you been? What do you mean by taking off without a word? Don’t I even rate a bloody phone call you ARROGANT FEATHER CLAD…” The demon breaks off, dumbfounded as the stupid angel steps in and pulls him into a hungry kiss. He allows it for all of three seconds before he pushes Castiel away, scowling.

“Get your bloody hands off me! You reek of heaven.” He growls, relenting when the angel manages to look chagrined. Crowley vents an impatient sigh. “Come on! We should probably find your idiotic friends.”

“Sam and Dean,” the angel corrects.

Crowley rolls his eyes. He wipes the angel blade on the sleeve of his overcoat and conceals it. Stepping aside, he gestures for Castiel to lead the way. They’ve only gone three paces when the angel stops and Crowley bumps into him.

“What _now_?!”

Castiel turns to him. “Thank you. For…coming to…”

Crowley waves the words off. “You’re lucky I…” another exasperated sigh. “But we can discuss that, later.”

The angel nods. “Yes, we must find Mary Winchester. The baby will be here soon.”

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

Sam treads softly along a corridor listening for signs of pursuit. At the sound of voices, he flattens himself against a wall, listening as footfalls approach around a corner. He cocks his pistol and takes a deep breath. Sam steps out, finger on the trigger, tensed and ready to fire. He lets out a breath and lowers the gun. Cas, Crowley.”

“Sam!” Castiel hugs him.

“Whoa! loaded gun, dude!”

Crowley smirks and inclines his head in greeting. “Moose.”

“Dean went after mom. I haven’t seen or heard anything from him in a while,” Sam says. He glances around, uneasily. “We should keep moving. This place is crawling with Men of Letters.”

“Perhaps you should try calling him,” Crowley says. “Not like you're going to give the game away at this point.”

Sam glares at the demon and opens his mouth to reply.

“Dean!” Castiel says. His gaze is fixed on a point over Sam’s right shoulder. “Mary, we are here to rescue you.”

“You're a little short for a storm trooper.” Dean replies.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam sees Dean, carrying Mary coming towards them.

Dean grins at Sam. “Where'd _you_ get to?”

“Had a few Brits to get through. Where’s Ketch?”

“In hell, I hope,” Crowley says. He narrows his eyes, listening as firm, even footfalls approach, the owner of them out of sight around the corner. “Someone’s not taking much trouble to…”

“Hide myself?” A familiar, mocking voice finishes the sentence. Lucifer steps into the corridor. "Hi, gang!”

Crowley's jaw drops. He mutters a curse and backs up several paces. “How in the name of all that’s unholy did _you_ get out?”

“Crowleey…” Lucifer pouts. “Did you seriously think that mere _magic_ would contain me forever?”

Sam steps up beside Dean and Mary. Castiel flanks Dean’s other side.

Crowley turns to bolt but is frozen in place as Lucifer lifts a hand. “Stay, pup!”

Lucifer turns his attention to the Winchesters and Castiel. “I believe that's mine,” he says, pointing at Mary’s swollen belly.

“No...” Mary struggles in Dean's arms.  “Dean, put me down!”

“Leave now, Lucifer.” Castiel takes a half-step forward, placing himself between Dean and the archangel. “You’re not taking Mary Winchester, or her child.”

Running feet can be heard pounding along the corridor. Lucifer casually glances over his shoulder and vaporizes two men of letters. “I said. No  _calls!”_

He turns his attention to Castiel. “Castiel…Cassie… Don’t interfere in things that don’t concern you, little brother. You know how that ends.”

Mary fights her way free of Dean and faces up to Lucifer, half doubled over with labor pains. “This child will never be yours!”  She breaks off, panting. “Not while I draw breath.”

“I always liked your spunk, Mary.” Lucifer smiles “Breathing isn't entirely necessary.”

 “You leave her be you...” Dean steps forward and Lucifer flicks him against a wall with a gesture. The hunter slumps to the floor unconscious.

“Next?” Lucifer glances from one to the other. “Anyone?”

“Lucifer, stop this,” Castiel says.

“Stop?” The archangel steps into Castiel's personal space. _“Stop?!”_ He sneers. “You Seraphs. Always getting above yourselves. I never liked that class. Just looking at you makes me…” A twitch of his shoulders. _“Itch!”_ He punches Castiel hard in the face, sending the Seraph reeling against a wall. Lucifer laughs at Crowley’s impotent shout of rage. “Patience, Rover. I’m getting to you.”

Lucifer grabs fistful of Sam's hair. “Nothing to say, Sammy?”

“NO!” Mary makes a grab for Lucifer’s arm. “Lucifer! NO!”

The archangel spares her a fleeting glance, but remains focused on Sam. “Do you remember, Sammy? What it’s like to be me?” He draws Sam closer, his lips a breath away from Sam’s mouth. “We could be great again, Sam. Nick…he’s nice, but…you were always my _True North._

“Sam. Sam, don’t listen to him,” Mary tugs at Lucifer’s arm, trying to wrest his grip from Sam’s hair. “Take me! It’s the Campbell line, right?” She breaks off, loses her grip and clutches at her belly, groaning. Mary fights through the pain. “I’m a Campbell! Take me.”

“Mom, no.” Sam struggles against Lucifer’s hold on him.

“Oh, don't worry, Sam. I won't take her. Well, I mean I won't _possess_ her. I'll take you, and my son. He pauses. “Okay,” he says reluctantly. “Mommy can come along if you want.”

“Go to hell!” Sam spits in Lucifer’s face. “I’ll never say yes to you again.”

From the corner of his eye, Sam sees Castiel slowly pull himself to his feet, dropping his angel blade into his hand. The angel locks eyes with Crowley for a long moment and then seems to reach a point of resolution. He raises the blade and charges at Lucifer with a roar of rage that is matched by Crowley’s howl of grief.

Mary drops to her knees with an agonized scream.

Lucifer releases Sam and turns to face Castiel's charge.

The room is filled with brilliant blue-white light, cut through with beams of gold as Castiel collides with the archangel Sam and Mary shield their eyes, Crowley is swallowed up by the all-consuming light. There is a resounding crash, a tearing sound in the air and then, darkness. Silence.

 

**~~C C C~~ **

 

Sam hears a far-off voice calling him.

“Sam? Sam? SAM!”

Gabriel shakes the hunter. “Sam! C'mon! This is _no_ time to take a nap.”

Sam groans, rolls his head to one side and then back. He forces his eyes open. “Gabriel?”

“’Bout time! Yeah. Gabriel!”

“What the hell?” Sam gets to his knees. Dean...mom?”

“They're fine.” Gabriel grins. “You're the one who fainted.”

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean sits with his back propped against a wall. Mary lays across his lap, seemingly asleep. She’s pale, but Sam can see the even rise and fall of her rib cage as she breathes. “She…okay?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I think so. Just down for the count.” His eyes track over Mary’s waistline, now slim and flat as though no baby ever existed.

Sam turns to Gabriel. “I didn’t _faint!_ Where’s Cas?”

Gabriel sobers. “He's with Dad. Debriefing probably. That idiot actually tried to take on Lucifer. Can you _believe_ that?”

Sam looks around, blinking owlishly. Confused.  “What about Crowley?”

“First demon to enter heaven alive and... stay that way.” Gabriel shakes his head. “Seraphs. _Im_ patient, or what? Dad and I were coming as fast as we could. Everything was fine.” A chuckle. “But he couldn’t wait a nano-second longer. Luckily, we got in between him and Luci.”

Sam studies Mary for a long moment. “The baby. Mom was about to…”

“About that? The baby is um...with Dad, too. The kid’s a nuclear weapon, Sam. No way we could let him loose on the world.”

“It's an angel.”

“Half-archangel, to be specific. Way more powerful than your run of the mill angel.”

Gabriel stands up and offers Sam his hand. “You guys should probably vamoose...you single handedly wiped out half the British Men of Letters Chapter. One of whom was their Doctor Hess. Think Dolores Umbrage and Voldemort’s love child.”

Sam accepts the hand up. “Yeah. C’mon, Dean, we need to get out of here.

“Need me to zap you guys someplace?”

“No!” Dean says. “Uh, thanks. We'll drive.” He lifts the still sleeping Mary into his arms.

“Oh, b-t-dubs, don't worry about Luci. You won't be hearing from him again.”

“Is he dead?” Dean levels a look at Gabriel.

“Well... you can't exactly _kill_ Lucifer. He does kind of hold things in balance. At least until... Oops! Spoilers!" Gabriel grins. “But he's not gonna be a problem anymore.”

Sam shakes his head. “Where have we heard _that_ line before?”

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: _And now, the end is here, and I face the final curtain..._
> 
>  
> 
> _So, yes, this 'short story' I started...oh how long ago now? turned out to be a two parter totaling 45,777 words! I kind of got a kick out of that 777 at the end of that number. In numerology it's significant._
> 
>  
> 
> _"This message is thought to be sent to individuals who are tuned into the spiritual realm. They have achieved a respectable balance between the natural and spiritual world, and their guides use Angel Number 7 as a way to applaud their success. It also serves to reaffirm that you are on the correct path."_
> 
>  
> 
> _In Christianity the number 777 is called G_d's number of completion. This stems from the idea that G_d rested on the 7th day of creation. This story took many more than 7 days to create, and I am so, so grateful to all the readers who have stayed with me for the whole shebang._
> 
>  
> 
> _I hope it was worth the ride. Please let me know in the comments!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Thanks again._  
>  Mordhena
> 
>  
> 
> __

**Epilogue**

 

Sam helps Dean to support Mary through the corridors of the bunker to a guest room. “So, do you believe Gabriel? That Lucifer won’t be a problem anymore?”

Dean shrugs, easing Mary down on the bed and pulling off her boots before drawing a comforter over her. “We’ve heard it all before,” he says.

 

~~**C C C** ~~

 

Crowley paces like a caged tiger. His hair is disheveled, he’s sweating and pale. He mutters to himself in a tongue Castiel thinks may be Gaelic.

“Crowley, are you okay?”

“I’m in _heaven!_ ” The demon rolls his eyes at the seraph. “Do I _look like I’m okay?!”_ He resumes his pacing. “I have to get out! I have to…”

He’s as close to panic as Castiel has ever seen him. “I can’t _be here!”_

Stepping in front of him, Castiel manages to arrest the frantic pacing for a moment. He examines the demon. “Your vessel is intact.” He lets out a breath and pulls Crowley close.

Crowley will have none of it. He forcefully shoves Castiel away. “Get off me! I have to find a way out!”

“Crowley, you’re safe here.”

“A prince of hell, in _heaven_. Safe?!” Crowley laughs bitterly.

“My father is here you and I _are_ safe...for now.”

Crowley practically cringes. “He was my father too, remember? He cast me out along with Lucifer! Told us all if we ever showed so much as a feather in heaven again...”

“I said a lot of things back then that... were cruel.”

Seraph and Demon turn to face Chuck who has appeared from nowhere. Castiel steps in front of Crowley. The action elicits a tiny smile from Chuck.

“Let me out!” Crowley says.  “I didn't come here by choice!”

Chuck sighs sadly. “No. I brought you hom—here.”

“Then you can bloody well send me back! This isn't my _home_.”

“I will. I know you don't want to be anywhere near me. But I had to bring you here, for a little while. If I hadn't, you’d be dead.”

Castiel speaks up. “Lucifer... where is he?”

“Gone,” Chuck replies. “Alive, but gone.” He smiles at the seraph. “Castiel, that was the bravest thing I think I ever saw an angel do. I used to think that you were broken, something amiss in your programming… “

“He’s _not broken… you… you…”_ Crowley splutters. He’s forestalled when Chuck raises a hand.

 

“Let me finish, Asmodeus.” Chuck looks at Castiel. “Turns out you’re a better model. I was wrong, not to give my angels free will. You Gabriel, Balthazar…even Lucifer, all taught me that, in your own ways.”

“We’re not machines,” Crowley snarls.

“No, you’re definitely not. Asmodeus…”

“It’s _Crowley_!”

“Chuck sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Heaven is open to you. I know it probably doesn't mean much, it's way too little and much too late. But anyway, I've cancelled the death warrant. You can come and go here as you want.”

Crowley huffs out a breath.  “Fine! So, can we go  _now?_ ”

Chuck nods. “Yeah. You can go.”

“What will happen to the child?” Castiel asks.

Chuck's face softens. “On Earth, they say that having grandchildren is a chance to make up for all the ways you messed up with your own kids. He'll be safe here, Castiel. I'll take care of him. I promise I'll do better this time around.”

Castiel nods and turns to Crowley. “Let’s go home.”

Chuck watches his sons depart. He turns with a sorrowful sigh and finds Gabriel by his side. “I messed it up so badly.”

“Yep.” Gabriel smiles. “But we turned out okay, in spite of you. There’s another saying on Earth, Pops. There's no rule book for bringing up kids.”

 

~~**C C C** ~~

**Three Weeks Later**

 

A light breeze carrying the first breath of fall lifts Mary’s hair from her nape and riffles through the golden strands playfully. She puts a hand to the back of her neck. John used to play with her hair like that. So long ago, it seems now.

When she first returned to Earth, her life with John and her little boys had been so immediate, so fresh in her mind. Since then, she has lived what feels like a whole lifetime in less than a year. She closes her eyes, lets out a breath and turns to face her sons.

Grown men. Heroes. Hunters.  A life Mary never would have chosen for her boys, but here they are. Because of them, the world is a little better than it would be if they’d had the picket fence normal Mary tried so hard to give them. She looks into Dean’s eyes for a long moment, a soft smile playing about her lips. He’s so very much like his father. She turns to Sam.

Sam favors the Campbell side of the family. The dark hair, his height echoing that of Mary’s Father, and Samuel Campbell’s father before him. She steps forward. Lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair from Sam’s face. “Don’t ever cut it,” she says. “It suits you.”

“Mom.” Dean swallows hard, clears his throat. “Are you… Are you sure this’s what you want?”

“I’m sure.” Mary steps closer to Dean, draws him into a hug. “I love you, Dean.” She pulls back, glances at Sam, but refrains from hugging him. Even after everything, there’s still an edge of awkwardness between herself and her younger son. “Sam, I…”

“I know.” Sam nods. “I love you, too. I…” A hard swallow. “I forgive you… mom. Be happy.”

“I’ll always…” Mary shakes her head. She steps back, turns to Castiel. “I’m ready.”

Castiel nods and takes hold of Mary’s hand. They step into the sandbox etched with Enochian sigils. There’s a brief flare of light, and they vanish.

Dean stands for a long, silent moment, staring at the place where his mother was standing seconds before.

Sam waits quietly beside him, hands thrust into the pockets of his hoodie.

After a while, Dean stirs, takes a long, shuddering breath and turns away.

The brothers walk back to the Impala in silence.

Climbing into the passenger’s seat, Sam turns to look at Dean. “You okay?”

Dean shoots him a look, reaches to turn on the tape deck. The Impala roars out of the parking lot to the strains of Def Leppard’s “We Belong.”

 

**~FIN~**

<https://youtu.be/u8iJO95K3IM>

<http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/defleppard/webelong.html>

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment. Comments, are rocket fuel to the muse!


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